


my kingdom for a kiss upon his shoulder

by sweetfire



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, General Keith (Voltron), Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, King Shiro (Voltron), Love Confessions, M/M, Mild torture, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Possessive Shiro (Voltron), Rough Sex, Shiro goes a little feral, Slow Burn, Weddings, honestly so does Keith, really friends to ?? where did you go? to lovers, they save each other, they're so in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28863414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetfire/pseuds/sweetfire
Summary: The path to the castle is still familiar. Keith’s feet step one after another by muscle memory, as if there might still be footprints that match his boots under the thick layer of snow. But that’s just foolish fantasy, he knows. He scowls. Not the only one he’s had, when it comes to him.After Shiro and his top general and best friend, Keith, win the war against Zarkon, Keith slips away without explanation or goodbyes. Brokenhearted, Shiro rules his kingdom and clings to his memories, always wondering why - until Keith shows up three years later with intel about an impending coup, and they’re thrust together once again.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly written, and it’ll end up being probably 10/11 chapters and ~60-70k. 
> 
> Title (sort of) grabbed from Lover, You Should Have Come Over by Jeff Buckley, which gave me the inspiration for this. 
> 
> Also, I would just like to note that I started this story in which the plot hinges around a coup attempt before an actual coup attempt happened in my actual country…..
> 
> I've really enjoyed writing this, and I'm excited to start sharing it! :)

The path to the castle is still familiar. Keith’s feet step one after another by muscle memory, as if there might still be footprints that match his boots under the thick layer of snow. But that’s just foolish fantasy, he knows. He scowls. Not the only one he’s had, when it comes to him.

Keith stops when he reaches the peak of the hill, tugging lightly at the reins so his horse comes to a halt next to him. Astre snorts, her breath coming out of her nostrils in thick billows of steam. Keith pats her neck, runs his gloved hand for a moment through her thick winter coat. The terrain is too treacherous here to ride through – part of the reason it’s such a good location for a castle.

The wind whips at his face, merciless in its cold and its sharpness, like so many tiny knives slicing across his skin. He surveys the land ahead of him, scans over the treetops from one end of the horizon to the other. It’s good, travelling in snow like this, as unpleasant as it may be – any color or movement will stand out instantly against the stark canvas of white. Right now, there’s nothing. A lone falcon soars above him, taking a moment to glance down at him, curious, perhaps, what this peculiar human is doing out here alone. _It’s a long story_ , he thinks to the bird, follows it as it flaps its wings once and glides beyond the line of trees behind him.

“C’mon, Astre. We’re almost there.”

He’s gotten rather used to talking to his horse.

The descent down the hillside requires careful steps, especially now, with snow disguising the dangerous jagged rocks below, some of them loose and liable to shift with one wrong move. Keith’s travelled this path in winter before, though. In every other season, too. This one is a harsh winter, hasher than most. The air stings his nostrils and his throat when he breaths, and his fingers are stiff even in the sturdy leather and sheepskin gloves. Atlas isn’t a land for the weak.

Movement catches his eye, and he freezes immediately into fighting stance, one hand on the handle of his blade. It’s just a hare, though, darting across the valley with ease. Keith straightens and rolls his shoulders, then moves on.

He’s breathing heavily when they reach the crest of the next hill, where he pauses again. He knows what’s awaiting ahead when he raises his eyes. Before his feet, the virgin snow glitters in the pale morning sunlight. It looks like sugar. Keith licks his lips in reflex. It’s been a long time since he’s had sugar. He presses his boot through a spot ahead of him slowly, just to feel the crust breaking, hear the snap as it gives way to the soft powder underneath. Keith sighs. He’s procrastinating.

Beside him, Astre nickers. She’s probably right.

Bracing himself, Keith raises his gaze off of the hillside, up through the frame of spindly, bare branches adorned with ice and snow that catches the light perfectly. The castle doesn’t look any different, but of course it doesn’t. Wood and stone don’t change. At least, not over just a few years. It still strikes a stunning balance of strong and beautiful, intimidating and artistic. The spires are still impressive and elegant, the stone arches buttressing the castle serving both as decorative architectural design and as an excellent mechanism to sturdy the castle walls. The sight of the castle still makes his heart catch in his throat.

He’s spent the entire journey dreading his destination, ever since he was given the assignment nearly a week ago by Kolivan, in a tone that did not brook argument – though he tried anyway. Still, he somehow doesn’t expect the way it hurts like the first clean cut of a blade to lay eyes upon this place once again. It’s not the castle itself. But it’s the memories, the associations…and most importantly, what’s now waiting for him inside of it.

***

“Sire,” a voice echoes, amplified by the stone walls of the castle.

Shiro looks up, momentarily disoriented. He’s been pouring over a map, trying to divine a peaceful solution to the problem of the Olkari’s need for access to seaward trade pathways and the Balmerans’ desire to keep their territory independent and protected. There’s a guard by the door, one he doesn’t exactly recognize – he thinks he’s new.

“Yes?” he responds, giving the man a smile when he recognizes the fearful look on his face, still unused to being in the presence of his king.

The guard clears his throat, stands a little straighter. “There is someone here to see you, just arrived after a long week’s journey. I was told you would want to be notified of his arrival.”

Shiro frowns slightly, trying to remember if he was expecting anyone. “And what is this visitor’s name, do you know?”

The guard freezes and his face reddens. “Uh-I-no, I don’t, I – uh, I didn’t ask,” the guard sputters. Shiro smiles understandingly, nodding so the poor man doesn’t have a sudden shock. “I saw him, though! He, uh, he was about yay high, dark hair in a long braid over his shoulder. Strange eyes, almost purple. Oh, and a scar, right across his cheek.” The man draws a finger from cheekbone to jaw.

Shiro blinks. His heart jumps into his throat, then freezes there.

He mentally rehearses the guard’s words, sure he must have imagined them.

 _It can’t be_.

Abruptly, Shiro stands, shoving his heavy wooden chair back, which scrapes loudly against the stone floor, making the guard jump.

“Thank you for letting me know,” he says, trying with all his might to keep his voice even. “Where is he?”

“I believe they sent him to the waiting chambers, got him in front of a fire and brought him some hot food. It’s quite cold out there, sire.”

Shiro barely hears the last words, pulse pounding in his ears. He’s already halfway out the door, forcing himself not to break out into a run down the castle halls.

This can’t possibly be happening. He can’t get his hopes up. He’s going to burst into the room and see that it’s not him, and it’s going to break his heart. But what’s one more time.

Shiro almost trips racing down the spiral staircase, has to grab the railing to steady himself, then dashes off again. The servants and guards he passes along the way must wonder why he’s in such a hurry, but he pays them no mind. He has one singular purpose, one focus now.

He doesn’t give himself time to be terrified, to try to prepare. There’s no way to prepare, anyway. If it’s true, he doesn’t know how he’ll react, what he’ll say – he just knows that he has to know.

Two guards flank the doors to the waiting chambers and pull them open as Shiro approaches, breathless. He turns sharply, swings into the room, and stops. His heart stops, too. He starts to feel dizzy, unsteady, like the whole earth has just been shifted slightly beneath his feet.

“ _Keith,_ ” he breathes. It’s been so long since he’s said that name aloud. Even now, it somehow feels like a sacred word, too precious to be spoken.

Keith isn’t surprised by his reaction. He’s leaning against the arm of the large wooden chair that faces the fireplace, arms crossed, tense. Another little crack strikes its way through his heart to see Keith react that way to seeing him again. He used to be one of the few people Keith could relax around. But that was before.

“Shiro,” Keith replies, nodding to him once. His voice is hoarse.

His face is harder to read than his body language. It’s a subject Shiro used to be an expert in, one he studied with passion and attentiveness for years. But it’s been a long time. Keith has changed. Shiro scans him up and down, searching for harm, for evidence of whatever he’s been doing for the past three years. He wonders if he’s about to find out.

When he makes his way back to Keith’s eyes, they’re unsure, guarded. He looks like he’s braced for something.

“Keith,” he says again, because he doesn’t know how to say anything else right now.

Keith fidgets, twirls the end of his braid between his fingers. It’s gotten so much longer since Shiro last saw him.

“I – it’s good to see you,” he finally blurts out. It’s an understatement, but it’s something.

Something behind Keith’s eyes flickers and shifts, and his shoulders drop almost imperceptibly. He won’t meet Shiro’s eyes anymore.

There is so much Shiro wants to ask him, but he doesn’t know where to start. He’s imagined their reunion so many, many times, losing hope gradually that it would ever come to be, but this – this isn’t how he thought it would go. He sorts through the questions in his head, throws away the angry, hurt accusations that come to mind as well – he can’t scare Keith away now, now that he’s finally here. Before he can settle on one to ask, however, Keith begins to speak, staring into the roaring fire.

“I come with news, and information. It’s about the Galra.”

At that, he does venture a glance over to Shiro, whose ears instantly perk at the name. He frowns. “What about them? I haven’t heard any word of them causing trouble, ever since we defeated Zarkon and his army and began to rebuild—”

“It’s his top general. Sendak. You remember him, of course.”

Shiro nods slowly. It’s not a name he hoped to ever hear again. They believed he died in one of the final battles, but no one ever managed to find a body. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle, standing up.

Keith must know what he’s thinking, because he shakes his head. “He’s not dead. He’s been in hiding, biding his time. And now he’s gathering support, among the few loyalists and surviving soldiers who still carry a torch for the old empire. There is good reason to believe he’s planning a coup, and soon.”

It takes a moment for Shiro to process the information, and when he has, the primary thought he’s left with, instead of worry over this highly concerning piece of news, or ideas about how to handle it, is: “How do you know all this?”

Keith shifts, frowning like he was expecting the question but doesn’t like it. “From the Blade of Marmora. They’ve been monitoring the situation. Kolivan sent me here to share our information with you and…” he sighs, “be the liaison, I suppose.”

“’Our’?” Shiro echoes. “Are you working with the Blades?” _Is that what you’ve been doing for the past three years?_ he finishes, silently.

Keith shrugs, his face scrunching up a little like it does when something’s hard to explain. Or at least he thinks that’s still what it means.

“Sort of. Not in an official capacity, but they’re a helpful information network. I go on missions for them from time to time.”

“Alone?” Shiro asks. He’s not sure why that’s the first thing he needs to know.

Keith gives him a strange look.

“Yes.”

He feels some perverse sense of relief, to know that Keith didn’t leave because he wanted to go galivanting around with someone else – with anyone else. It’s followed quickly, though, by the painful realization that Keith has been out there alone, fighting and surviving in this harsh world with no one at his side, for all these years. He wants to ask him why, for maybe the thousandth time already in the short time they’ve been here. He doesn’t.

“I need to fully lay out the information I have for you, before I – we – decide how to move forward,” Keith continues, back to business. “We should hold a meeting with your…your top generals, as soon as possible.”

The stumble doesn’t go unnoticed. Shiro winces slightly, before he can stop himself. He never actually assigned anyone the title of his top general. He has a group of generals he trusts to advise him on military matters, of course, but…he felt like he had to keep the position officially open, symbolically, almost. Like keeping a lost cat’s food bowl full in hopes it will lure it back.

“Yes, of course. I’ll call a meeting for first thing tomorrow morning.”

Keith frowns a little, scrunching up his nose in that way he doesn’t even know he does. Shiro almost cracks a smile, despite everything, to see that familiar look. “Why wait? This is urgent, Sendak is strengthening his backing as we spea—”

“My generals are all out on a hunt,” Shiro interrupts, explaining gently. He realizes that he is smiling softly now, almost fondly. Keith looks a bit like he’s seen a ghost. “So unless you’d like to chase them down in the woods and hold the meeting there…” As soon as he’s said it, he worries Keith might actually like to do just that, knowing him – and Keith raises an eyebrow slightly, probably thinking the same thing.

“Alright,” he acquiesces with a sigh. “Tomorrow morning, then.”

“You must be exhausted from your journey. Dinner will be ready soon; please join us. And the servants will show you to your chambers; they’re starting a fire in it now.”

He hates speaking so formally to Keith, wants to scrape the words off his tongue. They’re not right. None of this is right. He wants to stop this strange dance around each other, throw away these false pretenses. But Keith is already standing with a nod, pushing himself off the chair he never even sat in, and heading towards the door in quick strides.

 _No, this isn’t how this is supposed to go_. “Keith, wait—” Shiro turns, reaching out for him, but all he sees is Keith’s back as he hurries away, leaving nothing but the creak of the heavy wooden door as it swings behind him.

Shiro’s heart feels rather like it’s been trampled by a heard of warhorses. It probably will be, someday. If it’s not run through by a sword or poisoned by a rival. Such is the life of a king.

He sits down heavily in the chair Keith left, rubbing his face with his hands roughly. His head is a spinning top, too heavy to hold up on its own. His emotions are in turmoil, tossed about and not quite sure where to settle. There’s the shock at seeing Keith again, the enormous relief and joy at the knowledge that he’s _alive_ , he’s safe…and the hurt at the implication that Keith truly did just leave, the wrenching pain of the stark contrast between the cold, uncomfortable way Keith treated him and the way they used to be.

Shiro’s heart has been broken for years. But it breaks again today.

Keith comes to dinner, to Shiro’s surprise and pleasure. He’s sure he is desperately in need of a hot, hearty meal. The stew is just that – rich with dark gravy, full of generous chunks of meat and vegetables, slowly cooked together until the meat is falling apart. Keith eats it ravenously, shoving laden spoons into his mouth and chasing them with chunks of bread he tears off with his teeth. Shiro angles his eyes up to watch him subtly. It worries him, seeing Keith this hungry. His heart clenches at the thought that it probably isn’t out of the ordinary for him.

The generals have returned from their hunt, most likely, getting in before the sun sets and the cold grows sharper, but they’ll be eating at the tavern in town, not too far from the castle, as is tradition. Without them, it’s only Keith and himself at the table, the servants and guards standing against the walls behind them. There is no conversation; Keith doesn’t offer it, unsurprisingly, and Shiro guesses it would be too much to ask for right now. At least Keith is here, at his table, accepting his food. He forces himself to be satisfied with that.

So they sit in silence, in the vast dining hall, too grand for Shiro, really, but his ancestors built it, not him. He wants to perk up and remind Keith of the time in this very room that they were served that vile liver concoction, both tried to hide their disgust from his mother to avoid a lecture, but then accidentally made eye contact across the table and burst out laughing so hard they spewed the liver everywhere. The memory makes his heart ache.

Shiro pushes his spoon through his stew. He barely takes a bite.

When Keith is finished, he meets Shiro’s eyes for just a moment to thank him for the meal, then excuses himself to his chambers and hurries out before Shiro can stop him, again. As the door shuts behind him with an echoing boom, Shiro lets himself slump down into his chair, all the air deflating from him in a long sigh. The guards and servants are avoiding looking at him too. Great. He wonders just what they’re thinking. He stares at the wall, the dim, shifting glow of the fire casting patterns of light and shadow over the dark stone and hanging tapestries.

After a while of not touching his food, one of the servants comes forward to collect it from him. He lets her, and asks her to thank the cook for him. Most nights, he’ll go down to the kitchen to do so himself, but tonight, he isn’t up for it.

It’s getting late, but Shiro can’t settle. Sleep seems a foolish, distant concept, with everything that’s here in the present, waking hours. He hasn’t changed out of his clothes, the heavy, stiff things adorned with too much gold-threaded embroidery and beading for his liking, that a king is supposed to wear. He’s prowling the halls of his castle like a restless ghost, pacing and thinking and wishing.

He’s not paying attention to where he’s going, too caught up in his thoughts and his wounds, but his feet carry him where they are drawn, and somehow he ends up standing outside the door of the only occupied visitor’s chamber.

There’s a bar of golden light spilling from the crack under the door. Shiro fixes his eyes on it. Keith must still be awake. That, or he’s sleeping with the fire still roaring, to warm the cold that must have buried itself down to his bones during his journey. That would make sense.

Still, before he can stop himself, he’s raising his hand and rapping his knuckles against the door firmly. He taps in the pattern he and Keith used to use, without thinking, so Keith will know it’s him. He’s not sure if that gives him a better or worse chance of being answered.

After a long pause, Shiro’s about to turn around and hurry away, counting himself lucky that he avoided what would have been a terrible idea, when the door cracks open, then swings open fully to reveal Keith. He obviously wasn’t sleeping; he hasn’t even changed out of the clothes he came in wearing. Caught off guard like this, he isn’t as tense, his face is open with surprise, and Shiro sees a window of opportunity.

He wants to have a conversation, wants to navigate this delicately so Keith doesn’t feel attacked or cornered, so maybe he can start on the path to fixing things. But there’s too much welling up inside of him; it’s been building for _three years_ , really, and he can’t just pretend this is fine anymore. Without the light of day, the pretense of meetings and formality and people watching them, it just bursts out of him.

“ _Why did you leave?_ ” he blurts out, before he can think twice and squeeze his mouth shut.

He sounds desperate, even to his own ears, the words broken and laced with so much more than that one question.

 _Why didn’t you tell me where you were going? Why didn’t you say goodbye? Why did you just disappear, without a trace, without an explanation, for_ three years _? Why did you leave_ me _?_

Keith blinks at him from the doorway, eyes wide as a startled owl’s. His shoulders creep up towards his ears slightly, his hand on the door grips tighter.

Shiro should apologize, tell Keith he doesn’t need to answer and excuse himself, let the past be the past. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t think he can.

He watches Keith’s face change as he processes the question, moving from the initial shock to something like dread. The strange liminal space of the empty, late night has knocked down some of the barriers between them, allowing Shiro to read Keith again, without a chance for Keith to carefully train his features. It’s a relief, really, when he finds that he still can.

Keith breaks away from his gaze, frowns at a spot somewhere in the room like he always did when he needed to think. Shiro just lets the question hang in the air, doesn’t follow it up or backtrack. His chest is rising and falling like he’s been running; his heart is racing. He watches as pain passes over Keith’s face, strangely close to what he feels himself, and Keith’s face twists. His mouth opens and closes a few times, but no words come out.

“I just want to understand,” Shiro finally adds, the words barely voiced, thin and scratchy.

Keith deflates with a sigh, closes his eyes for a moment. His brows knit together, and he shakes his head.

“I – I just…needed to go off on my own,” he says, forcing himself to meet Shiro’s eyes. “The war was over, and…I just couldn’t – couldn’t stick around.”

It’s not really an explanation, they both know, and Shiro’s heart sinks, a thick lump forming in his throat.

“But…you could have told me where you were going, at least – all these years I haven’t even known if you were alive…” he chokes out, because if he doesn’t get this out now, he’s not sure he’ll ever have the opportunity. He wouldn’t be surprised if Keith left during the night, now that he’s opened this door that Keith clearly wants to remain closed.

“I know. I’m sorry. I – you would have found me.” Keith won’t look at him anymore. His arm is tensing, like he might shut the door at any moment. The words are short and clipped. They sound like he’s forcing them out. It doesn’t feel right. None of this is right.

“Did I…did I do something wrong?” Shiro asks, because even if he can’t get a straight answer out of Keith, this, he has to know. “Were you angry with me?” The possibility has been a termite eating away at his heart for the past three years. He can’t take not knowing.

Keith does look to him, then, something unreadable in his expression, paired with a frown, and what he’s pretty sure is guilt.

“No, no of course not, you – you didn’t do anything wrong.” His voice is softer than it has been, more honest. That, at least, Shiro can believe. He lets go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

It’s clear the conversation is over. He won’t get anything more out of Keith. Nodding, Shiro presses his lips into a tight line and starts to back away.

“I should let you get to sleep.”

Keith watches him go, but doesn’t shut the door yet.

As Shiro turns his back to him to head back to his chambers, or wherever he’s going to spend this sleepless night, Keith speaks up again.

“Shiro?”

Shiro stops, turns. “Hm?”

“…Goodnight.”

Shiro still remembers the day Keith disappeared, in perfect detail. It’s like a scar on his soul, unlikely to ever fade.

The first few days after the war ended were a flurry of activity. After the surrender of Zarkon’s armies on the battlefield, official agreements and peace treaties had to be drawn up and signed, all of which demanded the input of the king. Shiro was swept from the blood and pain and adrenaline of battle straight into tents and then throne rooms. He saw Keith when he could, in the intervals between this whirlwind of meetings and negotiations. Keith had been injured in that final battle – not seriously, thank every god there was, but the stark slash across his cheek would leave a scar that Shiro would never be able to look upon without a clenching in his chest.

After the agreement on the terms of surrender, which had been highly in Shiro’s favor, considering how depleted and ragged what was left of the Galra forces was, the troops began to withdraw, heading home. Only three days after the final battle, Shiro was back in his castle, preparing for a massive victory celebration to be put on for the citizens of Atlas. It was completely surreal, being surrounded by this cheerful, excited activity, having advisors make plans for him to tour the city and decorators consult him on what kinds of flowers he would like to have adorned all over the columns of the great hall, when mere days beforehand he had been watching friends be slaughtered on the battlefield. He floated through the preparations in a daze, never quite steady on his feet, or in his mind. He slept poorly, haunted still by nightmares, and wished for the more somber celebrations of his soldiers in the mead halls, where people would understand what they’d all been through.

Keith was to be a part of the celebration as well, of course. As Shiro’s top general, his right hand man, he deserved just as many accolades as Shiro – more, actually. He expected Keith would be uncomfortable with that kind of attention and adoration from the public, so he meant to speak to him about it, to offer him some exit strategy if he got overwhelmed, or excuse him altogether if he simply didn’t want to attend at all. But each time he tried to find Keith to talk to him in a quiet moment between meetings and obligations, Keith was nowhere to be found, even when Shiro searched all his usual hiding places. It was almost like his best friend was avoiding him.

Shiro didn’t have time to figure it out, however, so the day of the celebration commenced with worry still eating at him. Something felt wrong.

The day began with a parade, starting at the gates of the castle and winding down through the city, where the citizens of Voltron would be waiting to greet their victorious soldiers, their general, and their king.

To Shiro’s relief, and half to his surprise, as he waited with his horse Lion shuffling his hooves impatiently at the gates, Keith pulled up beside him. He was sitting up straight and proud, clothed in his ceremonial uniform, a deep blue cloth cut close in sharp, elegant angles that highlighted his lithe form. He looked beautiful.

When Keith turned to him, he got a glimpse of the cut on his cheek, beginning to scab over and angry red along the edges. Shiro’s heart sunk, and his face dropped into a frown. It was always painful, seeing Keith hurt. He wanted nothing more than to soothe his pain with his own hands, give him gentleness and calming balms for whatever ailed him. Instead, he reached out on instinct to take Keith’s chin in his hand, coaxing his head to turn to get a better look at the wound, and stroking the skin of his cheek next to it gently. It was a common enough gesture between them, but Keith held his breath and stiffened subtly enough that only Shiro would notice, so he pulled his hand away. Maybe the wound was especially tender, this time.

Despite his concern, Shiro felt lighter now that Keith was next to him where he belonged. It was like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Even though at the same time, it fluttered with nerves at the things he had to say to him.

One of these things, which brought him more excitement and hope than nervousness, was that after the celebration, he planned to knight Keith and ask him to take the position as his top advisor as well as his general, now that Shiro was to resume his place on the throne, instead of on the back of his warhorse.

“Keith,” he greeted with a warm smile. “I’m glad to see you. It’s been a wild few days.”

Keith nodded. “Well, a king has many duties.”

Shiro snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

The blare of trumpets announced the commencement of the parade, followed by the slow opening of the castle’s fortified gates. Lion snorted, dancing on his feet, making his ceremonial metal armor jingle, and Shiro held him back so that they didn’t just go off galloping through the fields, which Lion would probably prefer.

“Keith,” Shiro continued as they started to move, flanked by men and women waving and spinning colorful flags and followed by a procession of soldiers, “I want to talk to you, sometime when we can steal a moment. Will you wait for me, at the end of the parade? And then after I finish my speech I’ll come find you.”

Keith nodded, but didn’t say anything. Shiro should have noticed the way he hesitated.

After the parade was through, however, and Shiro was adorned with beads and flower petals that had been thrown on him by joyous citizens, he searched for Keith to no avail. He was ushered off again for the next phase of the celebration, a lavish ball at the castle for the lords and ladies that his political advisors stressed that he needed to keep happy, though that kind of thing left a bad taste in Shiro’s mouth. He wasn’t surprised to find Keith missing at the event, even though he’d been invited; a parade was one thing, but a ball would be one step too far.

It was strange, however, when Keith didn’t show up for the feast at the end of the day. Throughout, as advisors and allies were trying to talk to him, Shiro could hardly pay them any attention. He scanned he room over and over, but there was no familiar flash of dark hair, no sign of his best friend. It could just have been that Keith was tired. He wouldn’t have blamed him. It could have been that he didn’t want to be with all these people, have strangers congratulate him and slap him on the back. But something felt wrong, and Shiro couldn’t shake the sense of it, like something rotting in the pit of his stomach.

It wasn’t appropriate for a king to leave a feast in his honor early, but at a certain point he couldn’t stay any longer. He made some half-baked, breathless excuses and pushed back his chair, wincing at the way it dragged loudly and attracted the attention of the whole room. He ducked his head and escaped into the hallway, pulse beginning to race.

He strode quickly down the hallway, paying no mind to the guards giving him strange looks as he passed. The only thing in his mind was Keith.

He went to his room first. The door was partway open, and when he pushed it the rest of the way and stepped inside, he saw that the room was empty. It suddenly felt terribly cold. Keith never had a lot of possessions, always liked to live sparsely, but there was _nothing_ left. Shiro’s breath left him in a rush, leaving a vacuum in his chest. He ran from the room, told the nearest guard down the hallway that Keith had been abducted, to alert the sentries immediately, but instead of jumping into action, the guard merely gave Shiro a pained, sympathetic look.

“Keith left on his own,” the guard told him. “A sentry saw him slipping out shortly after the parade.”

Shiro must have heard that wrong. His ears started ringing.

“What? No, that’s not possible.”

The guard merely grimaced, and Shiro took off down the hallway.

He stumbled into the stable, ran down the aisles to Astre’s stall. It was empty. Keith was gone.

That day took up a place in his mind where nothing else would ever live. He’s never understood what happened. Why Keith left of his own will, disappeared without a trace, with no explanation or goodbye to his best friend, never to be seen or heard from again. Well, until now.

Over the years, he’s pondered hundreds of possible reasons why Keith did it, but none of them make sense. He’s wondered, sometimes, in his darkest moments, if Keith already knew the other thing Shiro wanted to tell him after the parade, if that was why he ran. But now that Keith is here, it doesn’t seem like Shiro is any closer to knowing. Maybe he’ll just have to learn to live with what he has.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiro and Keith set off on a journey together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few extra chapter tags: religious imagery (Keith hangs out in a chapel), descriptions of battle, mention of hunting, and brief (not detailed) description of hunted birds.

Keith spends the morning exploring the castle and its grounds. He woke up early, unused to sleeping much nowadays – it isn’t safe to be vulnerable for that long in the places he spends most of his time.

The castle is still sleepy, cloaked in that early morning hush when only the birds and a few servants are awake, hurrying around the castle silently to prepare for the day. It probably isn’t exactly polite, for a guest at a castle to invite himself on a private tour, but he’s never concerned himself much with etiquette. He knows these castle walls like the back of his hand. It’s strange, being back. Every time he sees something that he recognizes, that spurs a little memory in the back of his mind, it hurts like a cramp in his ribs. But it’s comforting, at the same time, to find that he still knows this place.

Outside, the gardens and grounds are well-maintained; better, really, than they were under Shiro’s parents. The hedges are carefully trimmed, and although the flowers are dead or dormant and much of the ground is covered in half-melted snow, he can tell that the gardens are well-planted.

The sky is an even blanket of grey, this morning, mist rolling in over the hills in the distance. The ground is wet and muddy where the previous day’s snow has soaked it through, but Keith doesn’t mind. He makes his way to the stables, walking down the barn aisle, where all the horses are in from the cold. He won’t admit to himself what he’s looking for, but his searching eyes betray him, as does the small smile that takes its place insistently on his face when he sees Shiro’s horse.

“Lion,” he greets, surprised laughter in his voice. The large black horse snorts at him, tossing his head. Keith reaches out to pet him, smiles at the tickle of his whiskers on his palm. He rubs the soft velvet of the horse’s nose.

A familiar whinny from down the aisle makes him turn his head, and he could swear Astre looks offended, watching him pet another horse.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he tells her. “You’re next.”

He digs a sugar cube out of his pocket and offers it up to Lion in an open palm.

“I have one for you too,” he assures Astre, before she can get too jealous.

Inside, he notices some small differences as he weaves his way through the castle’s seemingly endless rooms. Some of the old excess has been purged, Shiro not as much of a fan of grandeur as his predecessors. He still recognizes the tapestries that hang on the walls, though, telling tales of battles, weaving images of mythical creatures like unicorns and dragons.

It’s strange, seeing these subtle differences. But he supposes he shouldn’t expect everything to be the same after leaving for three years.

The castle has changed, but Shiro hasn’t.

Keith finds himself wandering into the castle’s private chapel, where his steps echo loud on the cold stone floor. It was always a place he tended to gravitate towards, before. He appreciates its beauty, even if he doesn’t believe in its god.

Even with the diffuse, grey light outside, the stained glass adorning three sides of the small room is stunning. It seems to glow, each panel telling a story etched in multicolored glass, passed down through the generations. Keith sighs, sits on the singular wooden bench and stares down at the jewel-toned stripes across the floor. He reaches his hand out into the light, watches the way the translucent colors paint over his skin.

He can picture so clearly Shiro’s mother here, kneeling with her eyes cast down and her head bent in front of the burnished gold altar. The thought of her, and her kindness to him, sends a pang of painful guilt through his chest. What would she think, now?

He’s thankful, at least, that one person he cared about didn’t live long enough for him to hurt them.

Leaving Shiro felt like tearing off his own right arm. It was excruciating.

Staying would have been worse.

He fully expected Shiro to be furious with him, to hate him now for what he did. But instead, Shiro just seems sad, confused and hurt. That, he’ll never forgive himself for.

He’s glad, now, that Kolivan made him come here, so that Shiro can see him and at least know that he’s alive. When Keith slips off again, then, he hopes Shiro’s mind will be able to rest easier. He can forget about him. He should forget about him.

It must be getting close to time for this meeting with Shiro’s generals. He winces at the thought. He’s sure most of them are people he knows, from before. He doesn’t want to think about the way they’ll look at him. His only hope is that he can make this discussion quick, and then leave on this mission without leaving too much broken and ruined behind him.

With a soft grunt, he stands, straightening his trousers. His gaze levels with the altar, its ornate curls and embellishments of gold, with a centerpiece of a painting of a woman and baby, painted dimensionless on the canvas and surrounded by a background of shining gold leaf. If he believed in some god, perhaps he would stand in front of an altar or statue like this and speak his troubles to a being he believed would listen, who loved him. He imagines that feeling is comforting, being able to unload your burden in that way. As it is, though, Keith only whispers his pains to the wind, which does its level best to carry them away.

“In short, this information is worrying, but our best move is to take Sendak out before he can initiate his plans, and before word of this spreads.”

Shiro’s generals nod in agreement. Shiro’s leaning back in his chair, hand on his chin, the way he always does when he’s thinking.

“To the second end, we need to do this in a way that doesn’t create a scene, keep the whole thing as under wraps as possible, so that the coup doesn’t get any more publicity,” Keith continues.

“So an assassination, essentially,” Shiro says. Keith nods.

“I am well equipped to carry out this mission,” Keith says, “so all I need is your stamp of approval and I will travel to Sendak’s hiding place and eliminate this threat.”

At that, Shiro narrows his eyes, straightening. That’s not a good sign.

“By yourself?” Shiro asks, a skeptical frown on his well-sculpted face.

Keith stiffens, defensive. “I am _more_ than capable of completing a simple assassination on my own,” he bites.

Shiro leans forward further, placing an elbow on the heavy oak table in the meeting chamber. “I am aware of your skills, Keith,” Shiro says, putting into use his deeper, booming voice that echoes with authority, “but this is too important to run any risk of failure. It is a dangerous mission, and alone, you will have no hope of help, and if harm does befall you, Sendak will know we are aware of his plans and our chances of cutting this off cleanly will reduce drastically.”

The room falls into silence. Keith doesn’t have a response for that. Shiro’s right. His generals are nodding their accord.

Shiro leans back into his chair and crosses his arms. “That is why I will be coming with you.”

Now, Shiro’s generals’ heads all swivel in synchrony to the head of the table, staring at him like snakes have sprung from his eyes.

“What?! Why?” The pitch of Keith’s voice is climbing as he starts to panic, clawing back against what Shiro is suggesting.

One of Shiro’s generals clears her throat. “Uh, with all due respect, sire, it is not…conventional, for a king to undertake this kind of mission himself.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Shiro responds calmly. “But I am also a king who fights alongside his soldiers in battle, it would behoove you to remember. This is a sensitive, critical matter, and I shall be seeing to it personally.”

That tone is definitive, when it comes from a king.

Perhaps there is some god, Keith thinks wryly, whom he must have offended deeply.

He’s stormy, glowering at his folded hands on the table. Shiro’s staring at him; he can feel his eyes, but he refuses to look up.

He hears the scraping of chairs and shuffling as the generals leave. Shiro stays.

“I can do this by myself,” Keith grumbles.

“It’s dangerous,” Shiro repeats.

Keith sighs. It’s final. He was always the one who was accused of being stubborn, but he knows Shiro is far from being free of that particular sin, either.

“Fine,” Keith clips. “As I said, this is a time sensitive matter. We must leave as soon as possible.”

“I’ll gather my things and we’ll head off this afternoon.”

Astre is far too happy to see Shiro. Keith glares at her for her disloyalty while they wait outside the stable for Shiro and Lion, her ears perked up and head craned back to watch expectantly for them to emerge. Keith wraps his coat around him tighter, bracing against the cold. He got too used to the warm castle. There’s a lot more of this ahead of them.

While he waits, Keith is left to sulk about the situation he’s found himself in. He still doesn’t understand why Shiro’s doing this. It injures his pride, the idea that Shiro may not trust him to take care of this. Maybe it’s fair. He hasn’t given him much reason to trust him, these past three years. Still, it would make a hell of a lot more sense to send someone – really _anyone_ else to accompany him. Shiro’s generals were right. Kings don’t do this sort of thing. Shiro’s never been interested in following other people’s rules, though.

Behind his annoyance, what Keith truly feels is a keen throb of anxiety, seizing up his chest and festering in the pit of his stomach. There were many scenarios he imagined for his first reunion with his best friend, the man he was devoted to, who he would die for, who he hurt and deserted out of his own selfish pain. This was not one of them. He never considered the possibility of Shiro wanting to _join_ him on this mission – if he had, he would have just bypassed Kolivan entirely and gone off of on his own, damn the consequences.

This – spending days, maybe weeks travelling in close companionship with the single most haunting ghost of his past – is something he doesn’t know how to handle. He should have known it wouldn’t truly be a clean break. It couldn’t be that easy, even though it was the hardest thing he’s ever done.

He sighs, glaring out over the path ahead of them, mapping it out in his mind. There’s no way out of what’s ahead.

What’s another scar to add to the collection? He’s survived worse.

The fog has lifted only slightly since this morning, still hanging over the tops of the trees, catching their highest leaves in its wisps. Keith wonders if the birds are resting safe in their rooks, or if they simply soar higher, above the clouds where they can see. Beside him, Astre whinnies happily, which must mean that Shiro and Lion have appeared. Sure enough, a moment later he hears the soft crunch of boots and hooves on snow, approaching behind him. They hesitate, almost like they’re cautious. Keith fills his chest with burning icy air, and turns to face his fate.

Keith dreams of that final battle often. It was bloody, desperate and messy as both armies, worn and ragged, strained and clawed for victory with the last breaths of spirit they had. He remembers the mud, the way his boots sunk into it, how he had to wrench them back out with an effortful squelch each time just to avoid the killing blow of a falling broadsword. He watched his men slip and stumble, succumb to the Galra battle axes, stuck in frozen arches in the air by spears that ran them through and buried themselves in the ground. War is always brutal. But this battle was particularly so. The rain stung his cheeks, blurred his eyes. At a certain point, the cold began to turn it to ice.

More than anything else, though, he remembers the moment he almost lost Shiro.

He can see it in perfect detail, more than he should even have been able to perceive in the momentary flash of action, almost like it happened in slow motion. He remembers the way he turned his head, as if moved by an invisible hand, just at the right time to see the glint of steel as a sword was raised behind the back of his king, ready to deliver a killing blow. He remembers his legs moving, launching him forward instantly, automatically, pounding on the earth louder than the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He remembers seeing Shiro turn just to see the sword, halfway down in its cut through the air. He only had time to widen his eyes, no chance of raising his shield to block the blow. Keith remembers diving between them, no fear for himself, nothing but terror and desperation for Shiro beating in his heart. He doesn’t remember the pain. The slash through his face didn’t even register; irrelevant when Shiro’s safety was at risk. He was the only thing that mattered.

He tries not to think about what would have happened if he’d turned around a fraction of a second too late. He doesn’t think he would have survived losing him.

Which is ironic, considering how merely days later he made the decision to cut Shiro away himself.

He was foolish. He should have known Shiro was too tangled into the fabric of his being to leave him without carving away most of himself, too.

***

Keith doesn’t speak as they ride into the hills, which isn’t surprising, but does amplify the growing sick feeling in Shiro’s stomach.

Three years ago, he could have imagined no possible future where riding alongside Keith would be more tense and uncomfortable than riding with some stiff-necked foreign dignitary. The fact of it stings, salt in the wound of losing Keith in the first place. He wonders if there’s a way to undo this cold distance between them, even after all this time. To leave whatever caused Keith to run in the past, at least for however many fleeting moments Shiro’s allowed to have him back. He desperately hopes there is.

Astre looks healthy, he’s pleased to note. Her vivid chestnut coat is thick and there’s plenty of meat on her bones. Keith, on the other hand…He doesn’t look _unwell_ , exactly, he just seems…dulled. Hardened. Tired. Shiro wishes he could ask him more about what he’s been doing off alone. Let him unload some of what he might have seen, what he might have done. There was a time neither of them would have hesitated to do just that.

Now, though, Keith lets nothing show – as much as he can help, at least. Sometimes, something will slip through; a frustrated frown, a tired sigh, a wince when Shiro tries to connect with him. It feels like a strike to the face.

Shiro lags behind slightly, letting Keith lead, even though they both know the way. It gives Keith some more sense of control, hopefully relieving some of his annoyance at his mission being imposed upon. Shiro doesn’t want to step on his toes, or to make him feel like he’s not trusted to do this right, even though he knows that’s how Keith sees it right now. He just couldn’t allow Keith to slip off into the wild just as soon as Shiro got him back – and especially not to carry out a dangerous mission that could get him killed. Shiro wouldn’t have been able to sleep until he knew it was finished, and Keith was safe.

Shiro’s not a fool; he knows he won’t be able to keep Keith now. He’s only come here because he was ordered, after all. But in that moment, in that room, he couldn’t stand to let him go just yet. And maybe, there’s some part of him that holds out hope that if he has a chance, he can convince Keith to change his mind. Maybe he can find a way to earn him back.

Riding back a few steps behind, he can watch Keith safely. His eyes are sharp, fixed unwavering on the path ahead. It doesn’t seem likely. But he has to try.

They take their first stop after several hours of riding, just before the sun begins its descent below the horizon. In a sheltered clearing, they dismount, letting their horses drink from the dark, glassy pond. Shiro cranes his head to search for the direction of the sun, orienting himself to their position. It’s a five day ride to where the Blade’s intelligence says Sendak is hiding. They’ll likely do some of their travel under cover of darkness, to help shake off any possible trail and to keep up their speed. But tonight, Shiro thinks they should set up camp, take a chance to solidify their plans before they go much farther.

He looks around the clearing, which is covered in thick, fluffy snow down right to the water’s edge, but that will be the case anywhere after the snowfall the kingdom has gotten over the past few days. The spot is slightly sunken down, hiding them from immediate view, and he makes note of the slightly overhanging rock face on the other side of the pond that will work well to block the bone-chilling winds that will pick up tonight. It’s as good a place as any.

“I think we should set up camp here, get a good night’s rest so we can head out just before dawn tomorrow morning,” he tells Keith, turning to him where he’s stroking Astre’s neck. Keith’s face scrunches like he’s smelled something foul.

“There’s no time for that,” he argues. “This isn’t some pleasure trip. We should ride through the night.” He’s gripping the leather of Astre’s reins tightly in his hand, and his shoulders are squared like he’s preparing for a fight. Shiro is half inclined to raise his hands up in a show of peace.

It almost makes him smile, the way Keith reacts like he always did to the slightest sense that he was being told what to do. Almost.

“I understand that, Keith.” Shiro doesn’t miss the way Keith recoils into himself slightly when he says his name, and he feels his heart sink. “But it’s equally important that we’re prepared, and that we do this right.”

Keith huffs, which Shiro’s pretty sure means he knows he’s right.

“Fine,” Keith snaps. “I guess, since it’s obvious you don’t think I’m competent enough to do this, then I’ll just take your lead, _sire_.”

Now it’s Shiro’s turn to wince.

He’s often thought that Keith’s eyes remind him of storm clouds, both beautiful and terrifying.

“Keith, _no_. Listen, I need you to understand this,” Shiro pleads, hoping Keith will listen. “I did _not_ insist on coming with you because I didn’t think you worthy. I didn’t, I just…”

Keith’s eyes are fixed on his, frozen, listening, but Shiro can tell he’s unconvinced. He’s wearing a slight frown, confused, like he wants to believe, but can’t yet. Shiro sighs, and decides to take a leap of faith. Things couldn’t really be going much worse, anyway.

“…I didn’t want you to leave just when I’d finally gotten to see you again, when I thought I never would,” he admits. His shoulders want to slump, and he lets them. “And I was afraid, Keith. Afraid for you.”

Keith blinks in surprise. He rocks back on his heels slightly, eyeing Shiro. He tucks his chin in a little, and something in his expression softens.

“Oh,” he murmurs. There’s a question in his eyes, still a little unsure, but his body relaxes visibly. It’s a first step.

As Shiro’s taking the tack of his horse, giving him some rest and reprieve before they continue on what will be an arduous journey, he catches sight out of the corner of his eye of Keith leaving the clearing on foot, his hunting bow slung over his shoulder and across his chest.

“I’m finding us dinner,” Keith answers to Shiro’s questioning, slightly concerned look. Shiro nods, but before he can offer to come help, or at least bid him to be careful, Keith has slipped into the forest silently, obscured by the dense trees.

Shiro never knew Keith to hunt, before. It must be a skill he’s picked up, probably to survive, out alone like it sounds like he has been. He sighs, turning to Astre to rid her of her heavy tack as well. He’s trying, but the chasm between them feels wide. Maybe too wide to bridge. Shiro has been missing Keith for years, but in his presence, now he feels it almost more keenly than ever.

It’s twilight by the time Keith returns. As soon as the sun begins to sink behind the tops of the trees, Shiro starts to worry. It shouldn’t be taking this long, should it? He debates abandoning the camp and going off to search for Keith, picking up his saddle to put on Lion’s back and then deciding better of it and dropping it back in the snow about five times. To distract himself, he focuses his nervous energy on setting up the camp, building a fire and laying out some thick woolen blankets under the shelter of the hanging rock. Every few minutes, he glances to the sky, mentally measuring by the diffused pink of the clouds the time left before the forest will be cloaked in darkness.

When Keith finally does arrive, Shiro’s taken to sitting on a tree stump with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands while he stares at the reflection of the sunset on the black pond, one leg bouncing involuntarily. The forest is eerily silent except for the soft hiss and occasional crackling of the fire he’s built, right in that empty space between day and night, when the animals are either asleep or just waking up. Just as he’s thinking it, a barely-there woosh makes him look up just in time to catch an owl landing on a branch above. It shivers, puffing up its snowy white feathers, and blinks down at him, eyeing him keenly.

Shiro frowns up at the bird, curling into himself a little on his stump even though the bird hardly poses much of a threat to him, a large human. “I’m not dinner,” he mutters to it, pulling his coat more firmly around himself. The owl merely tilts its head, the movement eerily smooth, and examines him like it’s not sure he’s right about that.

The only thing that alerts Shiro to Keith’s arrival is the way the owl looks quickly up behind him, then spreads its wings and takes off. Shiro turns to see what it was spooked by, and he can’t hold in his gasp when he finds Keith standing just a couple feet behind him. He must have come up completely silently, another skill Shiro supposes he’s picked up in the past three years. It’s at once impressive and a painful reminder of how many things he now doesn’t know about his best friend. 

Keith is looking at him with a raised eyebrow, and there might just be a hint of amusement in his eyes at Shiro’s reaction.

Coming around to the fire, he drops two birds in the snow at Shiro’s feet.

“Ptarmigans,” Keith states. They’re plump little birds; probably a good amount of meat. Shiro nods, swallowing a little shakily. He’s not accustomed to seeing his food in the stage between being alive and being on his plate.

Keith cooks the birds efficiently, working in silence with a focused expression that makes Shiro shy away from trying to start a conversation. He’s not sure what he would say, anyway. So far, there isn’t much that suggests Keith is interested in talking with him.

Instead, he watches Keith work, allowing himself to admire him while he’s distracted. It’s almost mesmerizing, the way Keith’s hands work, strong and capable, stripped of their leather gloves so they can move more deftly. His face is painted dramatically with the contrasting orange of the fire and cool blue of the twilight, and his long braid falls over one shoulder. There are a couple of leaves caught in it from the hunt that Shiro has to stop himself from reaching out to pluck away.

When the birds are cooked, Keith hands Shiro one on a stick. He’s hesitant, not quite sure how he’s supposed to eat it, so he watches Keith as he sits back on his heels, balancing so he’s not sitting in the snow, and just…digs in, tearing into it with his teeth, leaving bits on his lips and even out to his cheeks. There’s not a lot of delicacy to it, then.

_Delicacy?_ Shiro nearly scoffs at himself. He’s eating freshly-hunted ptarmigan over a fire in the middle of the wilderness, not in his candlelit dining hall; there’s no expectation of delicacy here. He’s been up in his castle eating from a silver spoon for too long. Maybe Keith’s not the only one who’s changed, he thinks wryly.

They have to put out the fire once they’ve eaten; the light and smoke would be like a flashing beacon to anything that might pose a threat to them while they sleep. Without the light, it’s nearly pitch black, and the cold seeps in quickly while Shiro’s eyes gradually adjust enough to navigate towards the little sleeping nook he set up for them.

He settles in under the rock, pulling all the blankets he brought close around him and trying to get comfortable. It strikes him, in the honesty that darkness and silence tend to demand, how incredibly strange it is to be sleeping beside the man who’s soul he once thought was permanently tied to his, but who’s treating him like a stranger. Worse than a stranger, really. Almost like he’s afraid of him.

He needs Keith to know, at the very least, that he doesn’t harbor resentment or anger towards him for leaving. That he doesn’t hate him, or wish to keep him at a distance. He hopes that Keith doesn’t feel that way, but just in case he does…

“Keith?” he says softly, before he can second-guess himself, just as Keith is curling up under his own blankets. But Keith doesn’t answer, or acknowledge him, and he settles as far away from Shiro as he can get in the small space, curled with his back to him. Shiro hesitates, hovering propped up on his elbow behind Keith, then rolls onto his back and stifles a sigh. Between the cold and the chill in his heart, he knows he won’t sleep much tonight.

When Shiro does briefly sleep, he dreams of Keith. It’s not a dream of strange events and fantastical creatures; it’s more of a memory, tinged around the edges with warmth and fondness. It’s during those months of training together, the carefree times when they were both still young men, yet untested by real war. Their eccentric training general, Iverson, sent them on what turned out to be a wild goose chase through the forest that nearly had them fall into a ravine and get lost and starve in the wilderness. The whole time, though, they were working together, stubbornly determined to show Iverson they could do it. In the dream, it’s after they finally escaped the forest, coming out onto an open field where they could see the castle in the distance.

Keith whoops, throwing his arms in the air, and Shiro laughs, throwing his head back and clutching his stomach at the joyous relief.

“Hey,” Keith calls, turning to Shiro with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Race ya,” he challenges, raising his eyebrows and leaning forwards, balancing in his stirrups. Shiro narrows his eyes. It’s not a fair race; Astre’s a faster horse to begin with, they both know it, and Shiro’s larger and heavier. But that hardly matters when Keith’s looking at him like that, eyes bright with laughter. Shiro’s heart soars in his chest.

“You’re on!” he cries over his shoulder, spurring Lion into a gallop before Keith has a chance to start, leaving him momentarily floundering behind.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” he yells, his laughter carried on the wind.

It’s not long before Keith easily overtakes Shiro’s lead, though. Shiro admires the sight as he passes, Keith seeming to fly over the long grass, face lit up with a kind of wildly free happiness, wind incarnate. His dark hair whips behind him, grown out almost past his shoulders now. Astre’s feeling it too, tossing her head and bucking playfully, almost unseating Keith. Shiro slows Lion to a canter, bouncing in the saddle, so that he himself doesn’t fall out from the laughter racking his abdomen.

Keith grabs Astre’s neck and leaps off her back before she’s even stopped moving, sticking the landing. Pulling Lion to a halt, Shiro follows his lead, dismounting and chasing Keith on foot through the tall grass. Keith runs, shrieking, darting back and forth and zigzagging as Shiro tries to catch up.

Finally, Keith’s toe catches on a rock and he stumbles, allowing Shiro to leap the last bit forwards and tackle him to the ground with his arms around his waist. They roll around in the grass, wrestling until their stomachs and throats hurt from laughter, and they collapse, sprawled out in the flattened grass next to each other.

Everything is bright, and easy, and the world is their oyster.

“You know, when I’m king,” Shiro says later, as they’re watching the clouds roll by, “I’m going to make you my top general.”

Beside him, Keith grins with all his teeth, brighter than the sun above them. “And together we’ll crush all our enemies!”

Shiro pouts. “Well, I don’t know about crushing anyone…”

Keith laughs, flopping back down beside him. He rolls his eyes fondly. “Of course you don’t.”

There’s a long enough pause that Shiro thinks the conversation is over, but then Keith speaks up again, quiet this time, with a vulnerable note to his voice. “We’ll still…we’ll still be friends when you’re king, right?”

“Of course!” Shiro assures him, whipping his head to the side to meet his best friend’s eyes. “We’ll be friends _forever_. Promise.” A smile breaks out on his face, and he holds out his hand, pinky extended. “Pinky promise.”

Keith snorts and rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, Shiro, we’re not children,” he complains, but he hooks his own pinkie with Shiro’s anyway and clasps them tight. “Promise,” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :) 
> 
> You can find me on twitter at [@sweetfirewrites](https://twitter.com/sweetfirewrites)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the ice between them cracks, and the space between them grows smaller. They'll always save each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional chapter tags to note: near-death experiences, mild hypothermia

Keith wakes with the first light of dawn, the way his body has been trained to.

He’s alert right away; the disoriented moments between sleep and waking are a dangerously vulnerable state that he’s disciplined out of himself. The forests surrounding the castle are too treacherous to be appealing to brigands and thieves, but there are plenty of non-human threats who aren’t nearly so deterred.

Sitting up, he glances at Shiro, still sleeping next to him. He doesn’t look particularly rested, though, and Keith wonders if he really slept through the night. He decides to let him sleep a precious few minutes longer while he packs up their camp and gets the horses ready to go. He works quietly, employing the ways he’s learned to move through the world without a sound, without attracting attention.

The horses are fed and tacked, their bags slung over the saddles, and the fire is covered over so their tracks aren’t so apparent, but Keith can’t bring himself to wake Shiro yet. He watches him there for a moment, considering him in the peaceful dormancy of morning. He hasn’t changed, really. At least not much, to Keith’s eyes. A little older, but without the circles under his eyes that he carried with him on the battlefield. His white hair almost blends into the snow, and the first morning light catches on his strong cheekbones.

Keith doesn’t know what to do about him.

It’s both better and worse than he feared it would be, seeing Shiro again, being in his orbit now on this mission. Shiro hasn’t expressed anger at him, hasn’t lashed out the way he probably deserves to, probably needs to. It’s good, except that it makes Keith feel vulnerable, like his guard is slipping without him even allowing it to. He can’t afford to get close only to leave again. Nothing has changed. He can’t fool himself into thinking it has.

It’s hard for him, the way Shiro’s not distant or resentful, the way he can tell Shiro wants to talk, wants to close some of the wounds that have been torn open between them. It puts a pang in his chest to be with a Shiro who’s still just so _Shiro_ , kind and magnanimous and _good_ , always good.

It would be far easier to be in love with a scoundrel.

Shiro wakes with a start, and it makes Keith jump too, to his chagrin.

He blinks awake, squinting against the sun, and looks around like he’s searching for something until his eyes fall on Keith. For a moment, a tranquil smile passes over his face, but then it’s gone.

“Good morning,” he grumbles, his voice scratchy. It makes the hair on the back of Keith’s neck stand up, and he scowls – at himself, but Shiro doesn’t know that.

“We need to get going,” Keith tells him, glancing anxiously at the sky like the day is racing away from them, even though it’s barely begun. Shiro grunts and nods, rolling over reluctantly and getting up.

They pick their way carefully over the rocky ridge of the hills, the horses choosing where to place their hooves deliberately. It’s a perfectly clear day, the sky a stunning, vivid blue. The sun warms them now, providing a much needed reprieve, glaring off of the white snow and melting some of it into crystalline droplets that fall off the trees. But Keith knows the clear sky means they’ll be in for a frigid night.

Shiro rides just behind him, having to duck and dodge snow-laden branches that arc down into his path, tall as he is. Keith scans the untouched snow around them as they go, checking for tracks, either of creatures that could become their next meal, or those that might try to make a meal out of them.

The sun is strong, and makes him squint until his eyes are tired. He can feel its rays stinging on his cheeks; they’ll both probably end up with sunburns today. But Keith is used to that. Shiro, on the other hand, spends most of his time these days within castle walls, not under the open sky. The thought bothers him, so he frowns and scans the vegetation that they pass. When he finds a patch of forest that looks promising, he halts Astre abruptly and swings down off her back. Behind them, Shiro and Lion stumble to a stop, watching with confusion as Keith steps through the snow and into the trees, searching for something.

When he finds a ballnut tree, he plucks a few of its seeds and holds them in his palm, sliding out his knife to crush them with the flat of its blade until they release some of their oils. Then, he takes them back over to Shiro and holds them up to him. Lion sniffs at him, rustling his nose against Keith’s hair.

“Here, rub the oil from these seeds on your nose and cheeks. It will help protect your skin from sunburn.”

Shiro blinks at him dumbly, looking between him and the seeds he’s dropped in his palm. “Oh, uh, thank you.”

Keith nods, and hoists himself back onto his horse.

They ride without pause, steadily making their way through the forest while the day moves on around them. Eventually, their way becomes too narrow and steep and they have to dismount and lead the horses beside them.

Shiro’s been quiet, probably tired, maybe afraid of Keith snapping at him. He sighs at the thought. This was never what he wanted. The faster they can complete this mission, the better. He wants to mitigate the damage this is doing, get out of here before it can rip his heart open anew.

“The horses will need to drink soon,” Shiro points out eventually. Keith bites his tongue, doesn’t argue, because he’s right.

He guides them onward, down the hillside until he spots the distinctive bark of a sycamore tree. The tree leads him to another, which leads him to another, and soon enough the babbling of a stream reaches his ears.

The stream is small and clear, and its water is bitingly cold but fresh. Keith crouches on the bank and drinks from his cupped hands as the horses reach down to drink beside him. He stands up, scans the landscape around them. He wishes he were at a higher vantage point, somewhere he could better get his bearings to determine where they are. As it is, he’s not sure how much progress they’ve made, but he knows they need to make more.

“We should ride through the night tonight,” he states. He pulls his gloves back on and tightens the bags on Astre’s saddle, and Shiro doesn’t respond.

When Keith looks over, he’s frowning worriedly down at the creek. He doesn’t agree, Keith can tell. He’s tired, probably, from a poor night’s sleep the night before. But Keith needs to keep moving, needs this to be finished, so he presses on.

“Our advantage of surprise could be lost at any time,” he argues. “We need to hurry. And we don’t know if we’re being followed; this would throw anyone off our trail.”

Shiro’s still unconvinced, but to his surprise, he presses his lips into a line and nods.

“Alright. I trust your judgement.”

***

Shiro sways on Lion’s back. He feels heavy, dragged down towards the earth. They’ve been riding all day, hours in the saddle or walking alongside. He’s sore, unused to riding for long treks this like anymore, and tired from his lack of sleep last night, but he doesn’t say anything. Keith has one thing on his mind, clearly, and Shiro knows very well not to get in his way when there’s that hard flash of determination in his eyes.

They ride until the sun sets and plunges them into darkness, and then further, until the nocturnal creatures of the woodland have crawled out of their dens and begun to go about their lives, prowling and hunting and travelling.

Shiro’s mind drifts back, to memories of happier times, like Keith at his coronation ceremony, how proud he looked; easy summer days before the war; the first time Keith braided his grown-out hair, in defiance of his own shame at his Galra heritage. He remembers how it stole his breath. It was hard for Keith, learning that he carried some of their enemies’ blood in his veins. Shiro never saw him any differently, though.

His mind drifts forwards, too, to their plan, to what will happen when they make it to Sendak’s hiding place, and what will happen after. He wonders if Keith will even come back to the castle with him, or if he’ll disappear right there, the moment his mission is fulfilled.

They’ll have to stop and feed the horses, he registers Keith saying, hears the displeasure in his voice at the idea of having to pause for even a moment. He sounds distant to Shiro’s ears, muffled. Shiro’s not sure what time it is, or how long they’ve been moving, but his body has long since begun protesting still being awake. The tiredness makes him colder, too, and he shivers in the saddle even with his heavy coat and furs.

They pull off towards the edge of a clearing, and Shiro dismounts as soon as Lion comes to a stop, his body aching for a change in position. It’s not graceful; his leg catches on Lion’s saddle and he lands heavily, nearly losing his balance. Keith is right behind him, giving him a strange look. He stretches, hearing some of his joints crack. This doesn’t feel like a good idea. Shiro’s too tired to be sharp, could be a liability in the danger of nighttime. But it’s important to Keith that they keep going, and he wants Keith to know that they’re equals here, that Shiro won’t try to tell him what to do.

Keith is taking care of the feed for both horses, so when Shiro spots an appealing-looking log on the other side of the clearing, he heads straight for it, imagining being able to steal a few moments to close his eyes, maybe slip into precious sleep just for a minute.

In his foggy exhaustion, he isn’t paying attention to his surroundings, doesn’t notice when the empty ground beneath him changes under his feet. He doesn’t notice until, hallway across the clearing, he stumbles, putting a foot down hard to catch himself, and he hears a loud crack.

The cracking spreads, radiating out around him, a sound that immediately strikes primal fear into the heart of anyone familiar with it, and then the ground shifts and gives way beneath him.

“Shiro!” Keith’s cry rings out, echoing through the forest, before Shiro has even fallen through the breaking ice.

His feet and legs plunge into the icy water, but he catches himself on the unbroken edges of the ice, managing to claw into the snow and keep his torso out of the water, spread out carefully over the ice so his weight in any one spot doesn’t break it further.

“Shiro,” Keith’s desperate voice calls out again, cracking, as he scrambles down the side of the clearing to where Shiro can see him, stopping at the edge of the ice and crouching down. “Takashi.” There’s a terror in his eyes that Shiro didn’t know he could still feel for him, one he hasn’t seen since Keith saved his life on the battlefield just days before he left.

He’s paralyzed, doesn’t dare move a muscle lest he crack more of the ice and plunge himself further into the water that’s already making his legs burn, cold enough that they feel like they’re on fire.

“Shiro, don’t move,” Keith instructs, breathless, holding out his hands like you would to calm a wild animal.

It’s a delicate process, trying to extricate oneself from a broken ice sheet; one wrong move and hope will be lost. He’s technically in a good position, with his vital organs out of the water and the bulk of his weight already on the remaining ice, but it feels like making any move to try to pull himself further up will crack the ice underneath him.

Keith has launched into action; he’s somehow already gotten a length of rope from one of their saddlebags and come back without Shiro noticing, tying one end of the rope around a tree trunk at the edge of the frozen pond and the other around his waist.

“Just hold on, I’m coming,” he assures him, and Shiro can tell from the barely-there shaking of his voice that Keith is afraid, but trying to put on a calm front for his sake. He appreciates it. He tries to wiggle his toes and finds that his legs are numb now.

“Keith, no, wait, you’ll – you’ll fall in too,” Shiro gasps between the shuddering breaths being sucked into his lungs involuntarily. He tries to stop him, but Keith is hearing none of it. Shiro has no choice but to watch Keith risk his life to save him once again.

Keith flattens his body out against the snow-covered ice, distributing his weight over as much of it as possible, and begins to crawl towards Shiro.

Each moment seems to pass slowly, like it’s being dragged through thick sugar syrup. Shiro’s started shivering, he realizes distantly, but he feels warm. His head feels too heavy for his neck, so he gives in, rests his cheek on the soft pillow of snow. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears Keith’s voice, speaking continuously, pleading him for something, but he can’t hear what it is, doesn’t think he could give it to him anyway.

His eyes flutter closed. It’s too hard to keep them open, too tempting to get some rest. Behind his eyelids, things are safer, brighter. He tries to keep the muscles in his arms from relaxing, knows he’s supposed to keep gripping, though he doesn’t know why, but his mind floats to where his body isn’t.

He sees the view from Lion’s back, his hooves beating quickly against the snow-covered earth, like drums keeping perfect time. The forest is rushing past them in a blur, and he’s laughing. Keith’s there, too, and his laugher rings out, music to his ears. Now, there’s a fox, scurrying out of his hole in the ground and into their path, where he stops and stares at them, flicking his perked ears.

The fox darts off into the forest, and they chase him; he’s not sure why, but it feels important. His bright red fur stands out starkly against the white winter forest, making him easy to follow, fast as he is. Shiro’s eyes are locked on its fluffy tail as it bounds through the snow. Then, to his horror, the fox suddenly begins to change, its copper coat becoming dull, turning grey, growing and morphing into a huge, terrifying wolf. He tries to scream, to warn Keith behind him, but only a reedy whisper will come out of his closing throat. The wolf turns on him, and snarls, and its eyes are black and empty.

***

Keith barely dares to breath as he slithers across the ice towards Shiro. He’s almost afraid even just the incessant pounding of his heart in his chest will be enough to disturb the ice beneath him and set it off.

Keith has been gravely injured on the battlefield, stalked by mountain lions, chased by bandits, but there’s only been one other time he’s been as terrified as this, and that was the last time he watched Shiro’s life hang in the balance in front of him. He’s perfectly aware of the seriousness of the situation; that water is dangerously cold, and there’s hardly any way to warm Shiro up out here in the freezing night. He’ll be okay, or at least Keith can make sure he is, if he’s able to pull him out now, but if he slips the rest of the way in…

Shiro’s eyes have closed, and Keith sees his arms relax minutely, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Shiro, no!” he yells as he crawls more quickly, dropping some of his caution for his own safety and hurrying towards Shiro. His yell seems to be enough to rouse Shiro into blinking his eyes back open and stopping himself from sliding any further in.

Keith is close enough to reach him, now, so he does, flattening himself completely against the ice and stretching out his hand, grabbing onto Shiro’s forearm.

“I have you,” he tells him. “It’s going to be okay.” He’s not sure which one of them he’s trying to reassure more. This is the most risky part of the process, and he needs to get it right. He breathes in and out slowly, trying to calm the racing of his heart for a moment so he can listen for the sounds of the ice beneath him. Ice will warn if it is going to give way, but you have to know what to listen for.

“I’m going to pull you out now,” he explains, “but you can’t make any sudden movements. Try to relax, and let me pull you onto the ice.”

He shifts his weight carefully, shuffling slightly closer so he can grab Shiro’s other arm, and when the ice doesn’t creak, he begins to tug him forward. Slowly, he’s able to pull Shiro towards him, and his upper legs begin to emerge from the water. He’s almost there…Shiro helps him, bending a leg and bringing it up on the ice once he can, and together they’re able to edge Shiro all the way out of the hole in the ice without causing more of it to break.

“Okay, okay,” Keith pants, his veins pumping with adrenaline. They’re not out of the woods yet; they still have to get off of the frozen pond, and Keith keeps a hand on Shiro’s back to make sure he doesn’t try to stand up in his disorientation and crack the ice again.

“Follow my lead and roll towards the bank, very carefully,” he instructs, waiting for Shiro to nod before he begins rolling, one shoulder over another, until he reaches solid ground and clambers up onto it, offering a hand when Shiro finally, finally rolls to the shore as well.

He heaves Shiro up, supporting a good amount of his weight as Shiro struggles to stand on wobbly legs. They’re probably numb, he realizes, and he only makes Shiro take a couple steps away from the pond before he sits him down. He’s shaking and dazed; signs of hypothermia setting in, and probably also shock, so speed is of the essence.

First priority is getting him out of his wet clothes and into dry ones that he digs out of Shiro’s saddlebag, which Keith helps him do as quickly as possible. He throws their two thickest wool blankets over him, and sets to work on the fire. The fire poses a bit of a problem. Keith hates the idea of going more than a couple feet away from Shiro right now, but he’ll need a good amount of dry kindling and firewood to build the strong fire that he knows Shiro desperately needs, and he won’t find enough of it right here in this clearing.

Torn, he glances out into the black of the forest, lit just barely by the light of the stars and the thin slice of waxing moon, and back to Shiro, who’s shivering violently with his knees folded up into his chest. He doesn’t have a choice.

“Shiro, I have to go out into the forest to collect firewood,” he tells him gently, “just for a moment – I’ll be back quickly, I promise.”

Shiro nods, putting on a brave face, but Keith knows better. Then, he cracks a shaky smile, worms one hand out of his blankets, and sticks out his pinky finger.

“Pinky promise?” he jokes.

Keith chokes on a laugh, tears springing to his eyes immediately that he doesn’t have time to deal with. He catches Shiro’s finger with his own and nods.

“Yeah, pinky promise.” His voice sounds watery, he knows, but he doesn’t care. He swings a bag over his shoulder and jogs off into the woods.

He’s back as quickly as possible, laden with good firewood, and he drops it directly in front of Shiro, where he starts to build the fire. His hands are shaking from the fear and adrenaline, but he works quickly, getting it worked up into a healthy roar before long. It’s putting out good heat, and he lets himself give a small sigh of relief. Before anything else, he grabs a cup from one of his saddlebags and scoops snow into it, then sets it on top of the fire to melt it into warm water. Shiro will need warming up from the inside out, as well.

It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. He looks Shiro over carefully. He doesn’t look good, but he doesn’t look in immediate danger, anymore, and Keith doesn’t realize just how afraid he was until he’s able to let it go in a rush. He doesn’t realize there are tears wetting his cheeks until the cold makes them sting.

In the aftermath, a flood of emotion washes over him – including guilt, because he knows this situation happened largely because of his decisions.

“I’m sorry, Shiro,” he says, his voice rough and somber. Shiro looks up to him and frowns, confused. Keith knows he’s going to argue before he even opens his mouth.

“It’s not your fault, Keith; I just wasn’t paying attention, I didn’t notice the ice, it was stupid—”

“You didn’t notice because you’re exhausted! Because you barely slept last night, and _I_ insisted we ride through the night anyway!”

Shiro’s expression is soft and understanding now, and _no, this is not what’s supposed to be happening_ ; Shiro can’t be trying to comfort him when he’s still shivering, might still have frostbite or slip further into hypothermia…But he’s crying now, and Shiro can see his tears in the light of the fire, and Shiro does what he always does. He works an arm out of his blanket and places a hand on Keith’s arm.

“Keith. This is not on you,” he tells him, eyes painfully earnest. “You’re right that we need to hurry; it was an understandable decision. Accidents happen. And besides, I’m okay. Everything is fine, thanks to you.” He smiles then, and Keith feels the warmth of his forgiveness. He needs it like air.

He almost just lost Shiro, _truly_ lost him, and the reality of it hits him hard.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says again, sniffing. “For leaving,” he rushes, needing to get it out before he can stop himself, “for not saying goodbye, or explaining myself, for – for staying away all these years.” It all runs out of him, because there’s no way to hold it in anymore, not with the way this fear and shock has knocked something loose inside of him.

In the midst of it, he takes the cup off the fire, the water warmed now, and shoves it into Shiro’s hand insistently, because he’s still white as a ghost, and he’s trying to act like he’s fine, but he never could fool Keith.

Shiro doesn’t respond yet. He processes the abrupt change of subject, and Keith’s heart twists in regret at the way it makes an obvious pain pass over Shiro’s face.

“You would be well within your rights to be angry with me,” he continues. “You _should_ be angry with me.”

Shiro seems to be considering the idea, frowning in thought. The firelight dances on his skin, and Keith thinks it’s regaining some of its color.

“I…I’m not. Angry with you, that is.” He says it slowly, carefully, and Keith knows he’s being honest. “Maybe I have been, fleetingly, sometimes over these past three years. But mostly I’m just hurt, and…sad, I guess.” He _looks_ sad, gaze tilted down, where Keith can’t see the grey of his eyes, only his eyelashes, lit from underneath. Then, he does look up. His eyes are open and vulnerable, and it breaks Keith’s heart to know that he ever hurt him. “I know you. And I know you must have had a reason why you left the way you did. But…I miss you.”

Keith nods, heart in his throat. He knows the feeling. “I do too. So much. I’m sorry.”

“I just wish…I wish I understood why,” Shiro says softly.

He does deserve to know why, and Keith wishes he could give him that closure.

But the real reason is the one thing he can’t tell him.

Keith is quiet for a long while, and Shiro lets him be, just gives him space to think and decide what he’s willing to tell him.

“I think…” he starts hesitantly, “after the war, I just…I felt like I didn’t know how to move forward. How to go back to normal, after everything we’d been through. I felt cornered, up in that castle. And the only solution I could think of was to run.”

It maybe holds some shadow of truth, but it’s not the real answer, and it’s a poor excuse for one. Shiro knows it’s not the full truth, he can tell, but he doesn’t say anything. He won’t push. Won’t ask for more than he’s offered.

Shiro nods, accepting the explanation for what it is. He stares into the fire a while longer, then he looks to Keith, and his thoughtful frown softens.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says gently, smiling to the extent that he can. “I forgive you.”

It means more to Keith than he can voice, having Shiro’s forgiveness for the most selfish thing he’s ever done. Even if he wanted to try, he couldn’t, because it’s put a lump in his throat that he has trouble forcing words past. He manages a hoarse “thank you,” and thanks the stars there’s no one but Shiro around to see the fearsome warrior Keith Kogane reduced to this state.

“Thank _you_ ,” Shiro responds, looking so deep into his eyes he feels like he can feel it tickle in the back of his skull. “For saving me…once again,” he adds wryly.

Keith sniffles, shakes his head, still shaky from the fear and adrenaline. “Think nothing of it,” he says.

As if he could ever do anything else.

As if Shiro could ever understand how _he’s_ the one who saved Keith first, all those years ago.

Keith doesn’t really remember much about before he met Shiro, anymore. His life was just survival, just trying to hold on and make it through this world that had no qualms with tossing people like him in the currents and scraping them against the rocks. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure why he tried.

When Shiro singled him out that first day of training, a future king deeming fit to befriend a rash, ill-tempered soldier who only signed up because he needed food and a place to sleep and an outlet for his untamed, angry energy, he opened up a life for Keith that he never could have imagined before. Shiro was the first person he can remember to have believed in him, and he never gave up on him. He hasn’t even now, when any rational person would have.

Keith sets another cup of snow over the fire and tosses a few more sticks into the flames, making sure it stays strong and radiating warmth. Shiro scoots a little closer to it.

“I’m sorry I’m holding us up so much,” he says. “I know you wanted to make it to the edge of the kingdom by tomorrow.” The man actually sounds genuinely sorry, damn him.

Keith glares at him. “None of that. You could have died. We’re staying here until I’m sure you’ll be alright, and then you’re getting a good night’s sleep.”

Shiro gives him a weak smile and doesn’t argue. That must mean he really needs it.

Once Shiro is sufficiently warmed to no longer be in immediate danger from hypothermia, his exhaustion becomes the more pressing issue. His eyes have been drooping closed for a while, and his head has started to loll forwards, jerked back up when his chin hits his chest each time, so Keith resolves to get him to sleep. He’ll need to keep warm while he sleeps, especially, so the fire will have to stay lit. That means Keith should be awake to feed the fire and keep watch, in case the flames attract any unwanted attention.

He explains as much to Shiro, who barely even lets him finish before he’s trying to protest.

“Keith, did we not _just_ learn this lesson? If you stay up all night, then you’ll be the one exhausted tomorrow—”

“I’m used to it. Really, Shiro, it’s fine.”

Shiro looks far from convinced. He frowns, and it’s so close to a pout that it almost makes Keith want to laugh, despite everything.

Sighing, Keith tries taking a different tack. He’s been torn raw and open and vulnerable enough already tonight, so what’s a little more.

“Shiro, please. I’m worried. I want to make sure you’re okay, and this how I can do that. Please let me?”

Shiro deflates. He doesn’t have a chance of resisting after that.

Keith sets up a space for Shiro to lie next to the fire, refuses to let him try to get up and do it himself. As he’s helping Shiro stretch out in the nest of wool, he can tell that his legs are still stiff and cold. It’s concerning. Keith chews his lower lip in consideration. Maybe the fire isn’t enough. He knows the best way to add to Shiro’s warmth. He just isn’t sure if he can do it and come out unscathed.

It isn’t really much of a debate, in the end.

“Shiro…I – I think I need to get under the blankets with you,” he says tentatively. “To share my warmth. I think you need it.”

Shiro blinks up at him slowly, seemingly already half asleep now that he’s horizontal. It doesn’t take long for him to nod and lift up the corner of the thick wool next to him. There’s a slight pink tint to his cheeks, which Keith hopes is a sign of him getting his warmth back.

Keith squirms under the blankets next to Shiro, realizing too late how difficult it’s going to be to stay awake like this. He stays sitting up, hoping that will help, and scoots himself just close enough to press his body against Shiro’s side. His body heat will be trapped by the wool and help to heat Shiro up, but the closer he is, the better. Once they get settled, he turns to tell Shiro to sleep now, but he sees that he already is, having slipped under as soon as he got the chance. His lips are parted slightly, gaining back their color, thank god, and his eyelashes rest sweetly on his cheeks.

As the night wears on, Keith watches him. Like this, asleep and peaceful, he could so easily be the Shiro of three years ago. The Shiro he ran away from.

Keith’s never known exactly when he fell in love with his best friend. It never felt like anything shifted, like there was some sea change. Maybe he always was in love with him, or maybe it happened so naturally and gradually that by the time he noticed, it was like he’d been in love all along. He’s long ago come to terms with it, the fact of his unrequited love for his best friend. He’s comfortable with it now, doesn’t try to deny it to himself, or tell himself that eventually it will fade away.

He’s in love with Shiro, and he always will be.

That’s why he had to leave him.

It’s partially true, what he told Shiro. He did feel trapped, cornered into a situation he couldn’t face. He’d done it for years, but after the trials of the war made his feelings concrete, forged in steel and no longer able to be ignored, the idea of going back to the castle to live in such close proximity to what he could never have felt inconceivable. He would stay by Shiro’s side, as his best friend and trusted partner, and he would be condemning himself to a life of holding back his feelings, keeping them locked in his chest where they would continue to eat away at him like acid, until there was nothing left.

Eventually, and probably not after long, he would have to watch Shiro get married, too, as a king is supposed to, for the stability of the kingdom. The idea made him feel physically ill.

Everyone else knew, too, he was sure. Their knowing, sympathetic glances would follow him everywhere, and he wouldn’t be able to take it. It was selfish, he knows, but leaving was easier than facing that.

It wasn’t easy. It simply felt like the only option he had that wouldn’t slowly kill him. But he underestimated what leaving the best thing in his life would do.

Shiro worried about Keith not sleeping tonight, but he isn’t tired in the slightest. There’s too much running through his head, and through his veins. He reaches over Shiro’s sleeping form to place another log on the fire, scans their surroundings, peering into the woods as deep as he can. He feels primed to fight, ready to defend Shiro against any danger. Sharp claws and tearing teeth would do nothing to dissuade him, now.

He’s still in love with Shiro, of course. He never expected that to change.

He’s thought hundreds of times over the years about returning, about finding Shiro again, embracing him and telling him how much he missed him. But the idea of facing the person he hurt, seeing it on his face, was too much to consider. Until he was commanded to, anyway. It seems that’s turned out to be both a blessing and a curse.

Shiro’s starting to generate his own body heat again, he can feel from the way he’s no longer pulling away all of Keith’s warmth under the blankets. Keith relaxes minutely. Hesitantly, as softly as he can manage, he presses his palm to Shiro’s forehead, then to his cheek, feeling his warmth return.

Having Shiro’s forgiveness, cracking some of the ice between them, makes his heart soar. But he’s afraid that opening this door back up, letting himself feel this, may wrench something loose in him that can’t be repaired when he has to leave again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > There was a moment, as Keith was slipping out of the castle, bag slung over his shoulder, head hunched in shame. He passed a cracked-open door, his eyes involuntarily drawn to the column of light spilling out from it. When he peered inside, just out of passing curiosity, his eyes snagged on a silhouette so familiar he recognized it instantly, a direct line to his heart. Without his permission, his feet stopped, and he froze staring into the small room where Shiro stood.

Things get better, after that night. A little easier, less tense. A few shades closer to how things used to be.

Who knew that almost dying could repair Shiro’s relationship with his estranged best friend.

He woke up sore and stiff, and Keith was eyeing him anxiously, but he insisted he was fine to move on. It was already late morning by the time he woke, brought out of sleep gently by the sunshine against his eyelids. Keith let him sleep in. He must really have been worried.

Mercifully, winter has seen fit today to relax its frigid grip on the land. The cold is not nearly as biting, and the sun is strong. Melting snow runs in rivulets down the mountain trails they walk, like tiny rivers weaving their way towards the sea. The sun glints off of red berries, glossy dark leaves relieved of their snowy burdens. Shiro may have had a brush with death a mere few hours ago, but he feels lighter in every way.

They ride mostly in silence, like before, but it’s lost that sharp edge it had.

Shiro’s still processing everything that happened last night; Keith probably is too. It weaves a thin golden thread of hope into his heart that Keith was so distressed by the threat to his safety. He wishes Keith didn’t have to feel that fear, but it mends a little corner of his broken heart to see that after everything, all this time and distance and hurt, Keith still cares for him in that way.

It did break his heart, when Keith left. In more ways than one.

The war brought them even closer, somehow. He knew their bond was unbreakable, then. Or at least he thought so. Maybe he was right, after all.

Despite their hold-up, they’re making good time, and they reach the border of Atlas just past midday. From here, it should only be about a two days’ ride to the isolated corner of the Galra homeland where they’ll find Sendak and his closest allies.

He’s going to suggest they keep today’s travel short, in light of Keith’s lack of sleep last night and their good progress, but to his surprise, Keith beats him to it.

“I think we should ride a few more miles, down into this valley, and then stop before nightfall,” he says when they’re stopped on a hillcrest. Keith is sitting straight and tall astride Astre, up against the edge of the hill’s sharp drop-off where he has a good vantage point to survey the valley stretching out below them. Wisps of hair that have gotten loose from his braid flick back and forth in the breeze, and his eyes are narrowed, sharp and keen like a hawk’s. He looks every bit the fierce, brave warrior he is. It’s a beautiful sight, and one Shiro tries to commit to memory.

“I agree,” Shiro responds, clearing his throat, once he’s shaken himself out of his daze. “We shouldn’t get too close to Sendak when we’re not in our prime form. We both need sleep and food, and to regroup.”

Keith nods, giving one last look to the valley, the snow-covered hillsides beyond it, then swinging Astre back onto their path and leading the way onwards.

They pick their way down the hillside carefully, dismounting for part of it so the horses aren’t at risk of stumbling while trying to navigate the steep decline with extra weight on their backs. By the time they reach the far end of the valley, it’s already cast in the blue light of dusk, so they stop and set up camp next to the small river there.

Keith throws his bow over his shoulder once they’ve untacked and tied the horses, flicking his braid out behind him to free it. Shiro offers to go with him, to help him hunt, and after a moment, Keith surprises him by actually cracking a smile. It’s a crooked smirk, the likes of which he was once intimately familiar with, and the sight of it now almost makes him gasp.

“Shiro, you’re a great, strong warrior, but hunting requires a particular set of skills and attributes that I’m not sure you possess,” he says, somehow managing to be diplomatic and teasingly condescending at the same time. Shiro huffs. Maybe he’s not as agile and silent as Keith is, navigating through the forest like a spirit, but…Keith interrupts his silent protests with a small laugh, a dulcet sound that rings in Shiro’s ears like church bells. He almost leans closer to hear it again, so enchanting is the sound, and after so long, but Keith has already slipped off, lost between the trees.

Keith provides for them especially well, that evening, and they fill their stomachs to their satisfaction with hot, reviving food.

They sit by the fire afterwards, letting it die out on its own before they go to sleep. Watching the flames burn themselves out, getting smaller and smaller, Shiro feels sleepy and comfortable, everything a little bit warm around the edges. He almost feels a little drunk, mind a little giddy, tongue a little loose.

“You know,” he speaks up suddenly, voice just loud enough to be heard over the rushing of the river and the crackling of the logs in the fire, “on that…that day, the day of the ceremony. Before you left. I – I was planning to ask you to be my top advisor. I wanted to knight you, too, after everything you’d done for the kingdom.” He’s not sure why he’s telling Keith this. It’s tender ground to be walking on, remembering that day. He shouldn’t go pushing those shards of glass in deeper, not when they both seem to be starting to heal. But it’s in his thoughts, and it comes out, just as a passing remark, without any particular intent to it.

_I was going to tell you I was in love with you, too._

The most painful fact of his plans for that day stays silent, as it always will. It still stings just that little bit more, the memory of that awful day, knowing that Shiro was about to confess his feelings to his best friend, and instead he lost him for what he thought might be forever.

He had a glimmer of hope, that day – he thought, with the way their relationship had changed, how clear it had become that they needed each other, that they were partners in this world, that there was a good chance Keith might feel the same. He nurtured that little flame in his chest as he went through the day, looking for Keith at every turn, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of him, get them a moment alone.

So when Keith left, of his own free will and without so much as a word of goodbye, not only did Shiro loose his best friend without explanation or any way to find him, but his hopes were summarily proven foolish and misguided. It was like his heart was being broken twice in one moment, and he couldn’t understand how it happened.

“I know,” Keith responds, to his surprise. For a moment, he’s struck with fear that Keith is responding to the part that went unsaid, that somehow, he knows that too. He recovers quickly, shaking off the thought when he realizes Keith is just referring to what he just told him. When he processes it, though, he’s still left surprised.

“You – you knew?”

“Well, I…suspected, at least.” Keith gives him a small, sad smile. It’s not just a hard subject for Shiro. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

Shiro chuckles.

For far from the first time, he wishes he knew what was going on in Keith’s head that day. If Keith was expecting to be knighted and invited to become to closest military advisor to the king, who was also his best friend…he wonders what about that could have driven him away. He knows that the explanation Keith gave him wasn’t the full story, but he has to be satisfied with what Keith wants him to know. At least he’s pretty sure now that the reason wasn’t something he did wrong, at least not directly, and that’s what he most needed to know. As long as Keith doesn’t hate him, he’ll be okay.

Now that the door is open, he ventures to broach another topic that’s been on his mind.

“I’m surprised that you’ve been working with the Blade of Marmora during this time,” he says, keeping his tone casual, his eyes on the fire, to avoid making Keith feel pressured or cornered by the questioning. “I know the last…the last time we saw each other, you had quite ambivalent feelings about them, and about your – your Galra heritage.”

He’s pushing his luck now, he knows, toeing dangerously close to prying, and into a sensitive subject. But something about the night, the things the past twenty four hours have knocked loose between them, makes him feel like he can.

Keith’s silent for a while, and Shiro almost takes it back, reminds him he doesn’t have to answer. But when he turns to cast his gaze on Keith’s profile, he’s staring into the fire consideringly. The flames cast his cheek in orange, and he’s frowning in thought, but he isn’t tense or upset. So Shiro waits.

“I did. I still do,” he responds, slowly, carefully, “but…you helped a lot with that, before.” He glances over to Shiro, then quickly back to the dying fire. “And I wanted to be able to do something useful, to help with the effort to stamp out Zarkon’s supporters and build peace after the war. The Blade’s information allows me to do that more efficiently.”

Shiro nods. It makes sense. Keith has been thinking practically.

He lets them lapse back into silence now, enough of his curiosity satisfied for one night. The fire has burned itself down to embers, glowing and pulsing like a heartbeat, releasing ribbons of smoke into the still night air.

***

Keith should be sleeping.

Shiro’s breathing is coming soft and shallow next to him, and he knows he needs the rest too. But his mind is busy.

Ever since Shiro brought up the topic of that day, the day Keith left half of his soul behind, his thoughts have been caught on it, unable to move on. He remembers how he hadn’t been able to see much of Shiro the couple days before, with all the duties that ending a years-long war brings. How that may have been what he needed to make his decision – a little distance, because with Shiro at his side he’s not sure he ever would have been able to force himself to leave.

He remembers that day, walking around with a sick twist in his gut, knowing he’d made his choice. Knowing his few belongings were packed into a bag in his room. Knowing he was about to betray the one person who always believed in him.

There was a moment, as Keith was slipping out of the castle, bag slung over his shoulder, head hunched in shame. He passed a cracked-open door, his eyes involuntarily drawn to the column of light spilling out from it. When he peered inside, just out of passing curiosity, his eyes snagged on a silhouette so familiar he recognized it instantly, a direct line to his heart. Without his permission, his feet stopped, and he froze staring into the small room where Shiro stood.

He was standing tall, straight and proud, as a king should. A groom was placing a mantle over his shoulders, deep red like oxblood, embroidered with glimmering golden thread in labyrinthine, swirling patterns. With a ray of light falling over him from the high window, lighting his silver-white hair into an ethereal glow and highlighting the flecks of dust floating around him into something like golden snow, he looked like an angel.

In that moment, Keith almost stayed. Almost ran back to his room and threw his bag on his abandoned bed along with his plans, dressed quickly in his ceremonial garb and flew down the halls to join his best friend, his heart, his sun and stars. To stand by his side forever, in whatever capacity he was allowed, to want him and long for him, no matter how much it hurt. If Shiro had turned, had caught sight of Keith and smiled at him, just one smile, his plans would have been forgotten in an instant.

But it was only a moment.

The terrain becomes smoother as they make their way deeper into Galra territory, leaving the much of the steep hills and craggy, treacherous rocks behind. The horses are happy for it, no longer having to navigate their way carefully over the difficult path. They follow along the path of a trickling creek that will lead them inland down the gentle slope of the land. It’s ironic, anything associated with the Galra being gentle.

It’s a grey day, and a slight fog settles over them as they ride, making it hard to see out over the way ahead of them. Fog always puts Keith on edge, because of just that – he knows from experience that it makes it much easier to sneak up on someone.

The trees of this forest are shorter, wiry with knotted trunks and twisted branches that loom almost threateningly through the mist. It’s never felt right to him, this forest. Astre seems to think so too; her ears have been perked up at attention the entire time, her head held high in the air, on watch.

He’s just thinking that it’s odd that their journey has gone so smoothly, so unhindered so far, when his ears pick up on a noise that’s out of place. One of Astre’s ears twitches towards the sound at the same time that Keith’s head swivels, and she freezes without him having to pull on the reins. It’s a distant rustle in the forest, something that doesn’t sound like a woodland animal scurrying about. He catches Shiro’s eyes, who looks at him questioningly, but must sense not to make any sound. They communicate silently, the way they so often used to, and Shiro nods, bringing Lion to a halt.

Keith closes his eyes to let his hearing take precedence, and listens. A moment later, the sound comes into slightly clearer definition, enough for Keith to make out the thumping of hooves against the snow and dirt. In a flash, Keith turns Astre on a dime and urges her into the forest, gesturing Shiro to follow him down a dip leading to a pond.

He doesn’t have to tell Shiro to stay quiet, or to follow his lead as he jumps off his horse, landing as softly as possible. They tie the horses to trees down by the pond, and then crouch below the line of the trail, watching. Keith’s breath is stuck in his throat, his heart working hard, not daring to move a muscle lest he crack some twig and alert whoever is coming to their presence. He’s not sure exactly how many it is, but he knows it’s the sound of more than one or two sets of hooves. All there is to do is wait and hope they’re adequately hidden from view.

As the first horse comes into view, Keith shrinks a little farther back down the hill, reaching a hand out and pushing Shiro back, just to make sure. Still, he dares to peek up just enough to see them, curious. The first thing he notices is that they’re Galra. They look like warriors, though from his vantage point Keith can’t recognize any of them. There are about five of them, moving together at a steady trot down exactly the path he and Shiro were on. It’s bizarre.

Once they’ve passed, safely out of range, Keith sits back on his heels and chews his lip, thinking.

“I wonder why they were out here,” Shiro speaks after a minute.

Keith nods. “My thoughts exactly.” He narrows his eyes at the trail where they disappeared. The prickle he’s felt at the back of his neck all day grows.

It disconcerting, seeing Galra soldiers this far out here. There’s a good chance they’re heading to the same place Shiro and Keith are, which is a bad sign for the immediacy of this coup. Perhaps their mission is even more time-sensitive than they thought.

Despite the itch in Keith’s veins to keep going, especially now, they stay in place for an hour to allow for enough room between them and the company of Galra so that they don’t have an unpleasant surprise encounter. In the meantime, the horses are fed and watered.

Keith has been pacing, unsettled. There’s a little tamped down trail in the snow, now, where his feet have fallen over and over.

“I don’t like this,” he states, unnecessarily, more to himself than anything. Shiro watches him from his perch on a stump. “Once we get to our camp for the night, we should discuss our plan for when we arrive tomorrow. We need to be prepared when we face Sendak. Surprise is our main advantage against him.”

Shiro’s nodding along wordlessly. It’s perhaps a bit odd, having his king follow his lead. But Shiro has always been happy to defer to Keith, has always trusted his judgement and wanted to hear what he had to say. It’s part of what made them such an unstoppable team on the battlefield.

When they start off again, Keith’s even more on alert than usual. His fingers grip the reigns tightly, until his knuckles hurt. The fact is blaring loudly in his mind that if anything goes wrong here, _Shiro could get hurt_. It’s not just him, this time, his own safety at risk. He never should have let Shiro come with him, should have dug his heels in and refused – and not because any of his fears about being alone with Shiro for days have come true, not even close.

The two of them spent years on the battlefield together, Keith has to remind himself. Shiro is a great warrior; he’s more than capable of taking care of himself. This will be far from the first time Shiro’s faced danger at the hands of others. That’s nearly every day of being a king, really, whether on the battlefield or within castle walls. But then again, the potential for any harm to come to Shiro has always caused him fear, even back then, when it was a daily occurrence. It’s worse, now, maybe because he’s now almost lost Shiro only to save him, twice. It’s like a sharp thorn buried between his ribs, piercing him with every breath.

He takes a breath, squares his shoulders. He’ll simply have to make sure that doesn’t happen.

They set up camp just before the sun sets. Most of its light is trapped behind the fog, though, so it’s dim, an eerie dull grey light all around.

Keith starts the fire, and Shiro digs out some dried meats and tough bread so that Keith doesn’t have to go find them dinner. It seems neither of them is particularly fond of the idea of the leaving the other alone, right now.

It’s still hard to wrap his head around, the way Shiro is acting with him. Not like nothing’s changed between them, but…like he still feels the same way towards Keith as he used to. Like he doesn’t care about him any less. It’s hard to wrap his head around because he doesn’t think he deserves it, the clean slate, the second chance. And because he wants it to be true. So, so badly.

His fears heading into this trip were fairly straightforward. He was going to have to face the unbearably uncomfortable situation of traveling for days in the sole company of his former best friend, who until hours beforehand had probably thought him dead, or a traitor. Shiro would either be angry, hate him, or be hurt and distant, and Keith would have to stare the consequences of his actions right in the face. The latter was true, to an extent, and it hurt like acid going down his throat to see. He considered these things, and he considered the difficulty of leaving again once he saw Shiro this one last time.

But he never thought he’d be in a position where he was so quickly beginning to not _want_ to leave again. That was the one thing he couldn’t allow himself to consider.

He chastises his foolish heart, stealing a glance at Shiro from where he’s crouched next to the fire. Shiro is feeding a carrot to Astre and Lion, breaking in half one of the bunch he insisted on packing, even though they’re heavy and unnecessary and inconvenient for bringing on a horseback journey.

It’s dangerous, the way Shiro’s acting, trying to make him believe that they could somehow just go back to the way they were, slip into those old familiar patterns just like that. But Keith knows better. The past is dead and gone, and trying to go back will only land him in the position he was trying to avoid in the first place.

It’s a good way to break his heart, and he’s not sure how many pieces he has left to give.

The fire is burning healthily, sending smoke up into the still air. The smell is familiar, comforting.

Just as he’s about to ask Shiro to bring the food over, a long howl pierces the muffled quiet of the woods. It’s followed shortly by several more, and they’re too close. Unused to the sound, Shiro sinks into a defensive stance immediately, hand going to his knife at his hip. Keith almost laughs – a knife will cut a wolf just like it will a man, sure, but that’s not going to spare you its rending claws and teeth in your flesh, first.

Keith, on the other hand, knows the creatures well – you don’t spend most of your time living out in the forests here without becoming familiar with the ways of wolves. Not if you want to survive, anyway.

They can smell their food and are attracted by the scent, probably. They must be hungry, probably in a hunting dry spell during this icy cold snap over the past several days; the large animals they normally depend upon to fuel themselves aren’t on the move like they usually are, conserving their heat and energy instead.

If a wolf is going to approach a human, it’s because it’s desperate. And no matter what species, a desperate animal is a dangerous one.

“Put the food back in the bags,” he instructs Shiro. “We’ll have to wait to eat until they’ve moved on. It’s too tempting for them.”

He’s not too worried; the vast majority of the time, wolves don’t want trouble, so they’re most likely to just pass them by. But shortly, another chorus of howls echoes out around them, closing in closer. Sighing, Keith turns to the fire, setting a pot of snow on it to melt into more water for them; their supply has been getting low. He keeps his ears tuned to the forest, waiting. Sure enough, more howls come, closer still.

“Should – uh,” Shiro clears his throat, wrangles his voice to be less obviously concerned. “Should we be worried?”

Keith shrugs. He’s got a nasty claw mark on one bicep from a wolf. But that was back in the early days, when he was just beginning to learn. “I can handle them.”

Shiro only seems about half reassured, but he joins Keith by the fire anyway, sitting on the ground across from him and peering at him over the highest licks of the flames. Darkness descends quickly; any light that managed to penetrate through the fog waning. It will make the wolves bolder, Keith knows.

“Well, we should reach Sendak’s hideout tomorrow afternoon,” Shiro starts. “What’s our plan?” They might as well have this conversation now if the wolves are going to delay their dinner.

“We don’t have much information about where he’s staying or how many he may have with him,” Keith explains.

Shiro nods. “When we get there, we should hold back at first and figure out what we can about what we’re going to be facing.”

“Track how many supporters are with him, how many guards there are and how tight their security is,” Keith continues for him.

“And we’ll map out the layout of the hideout itself as much as we can before we go in,” Shiro adds. “Then we can plan our attack.”

Keith had forgotten how easy it was, to coordinate with Shiro. They can work together almost without thinking, the paths between their minds well-worn and familiar. It’s good to know that it’s still that way. That Keith hasn’t ruined that. He scoots closer to the fire and there’s a warmth coming from within his chest.

The warmth turns to ice when his ears catch a distinctive growl coming from right behind him.

He whips around just as Shiro startles and leaps to his feet. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but once they do he picks up the telltale glow of eyes in the darkness, watching them from between the trees.

“Keith,” a whisper comes from behind him. “There are more of them.”

Keith follows where Shiro is looking and sure enough, another pair of eyes stares at them from the side of the clearing to their left. When he turns around, searching, he sees that they’re surrounded. It’s five wolves, at least that he can see. Not the most he’s ever faced. He straightens and rolls back his shoulders.

“It’s alright,” he tells Shiro. “I can probably scare them off.”

“…Probably?”

He puffs his chest out, raises his arms aloft to make himself look bigger, and gives his best snarl.

“Hey!” he shouts. One of the wolves recoils slightly, pressing its ears back into its head. “Get out of here! Go find your food elsewhere.” Keeping his eyes on the wolves, darting his gaze between them so none of them can surprise him, he leans down and grabs a couple of rocks on the ground. He begins to stalk towards the largest of the wolves, holding a rock up threateningly.

Shiro’s hand snags the back of his shirt, like he’s afraid of Keith getting closer. “Keith! What are you—”

Raising his arm, Keith chucks one of the rocks towards the wolf, letting it clatter to the ground at its large, clawed paws. The animal startles, jumping back slightly, and Keith presses forwards further still. He continues to yell, waving his arms, and throws another rock at the wolf he believes to be the pack’s alpha. A threatening growl comes from his side, and he looks to see that one of the other wolves is slinking forwards, reluctant to approach but teeth bared, probably trying to defend its pack leader.

Trying another tactic, Keith grabs a stick from the fire, which remains alight with flames like a torch when he pulls it out. He lunges forwards, sweeping the flames in an arc in front of the wolves. They all balk at that, sinking back onto their haunches, so he steps further towards the alpha and does it again. Behind him, Shiro follows his lead when he sees that it works, grabbing another flaming stick from the fire and waving it at the wolves behind Keith, standing back to back. It’s a familiar stance for them, though usually their enemies have two legs instead of four, and their weapons are made of steel rather than fire.

The wolves surrounding them are cowering, drawing back slowly, looking to their leader as if for permission to retreat. Keith levels his gaze with the large animal, stares into its yellow eyes, hard and challenging. Neither of them looks away.

 _I won’t back down_ , he thinks to the wolf, and maybe it can sense that from the hardening of his expression, because with a final, defeated growl, it turns tail and runs. Like they were waiting for the signal, the rest of the wolves follow, disappearing into the darkness in an instant.

Keith waits to be sure they’re gone before he lets his guard down, and only when he does does Shiro follow suit, letting his arms fall and throwing the stick back onto the fire. He sits down on the ground heavily, and Keith chuckles wryly. He knows the feeling, the rush of adrenaline and subsequent exhaustion of a first brush with the more daunting side of nature. Keith grabs their food from the saddle bags so they can finally eat it; he knows both of them probably need the fuel.

“God,” Shiro mutters, rubbing his hands over his face roughly. “That was…nervewracking.” He looks to Keith when he returns and lays the food out on a scrap of canvas between them. “Is that…is that what it’s been like, for you? While you’ve been living out here?” Shiro’s eyebrows are raised and knitted, his eyes wide with concern.

Keith observes him curiously as he tears off his first bite of tough, salty dried meat. He’s not sure why Shiro’s first reaction after going through an experience that clearly frightened him is to worry about how Keith’s spent the last few years away from him. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised.

“I’ve had my fair share of unpleasant encounters in the woods,” he says with a shrug. “You learn how to deal with them.”

Shiro’s frown deepens, not reassured by that answer, and he hums, turning his gaze to the fire. He bites into a hard cracker and winces as it merely clacks between his teeth.

Internally, Keith huffs with dry amusement. If Shiro only knew the new scars that lie beneath his clothes, the danger he’s found himself in – some of which he really had no excuse for being in. He hasn’t been overly careful with himself, at times.

“Truth be told, I’m more worried about that Galra company that passed us than I was about the wolves,” Keith says. It’s true. He knows from years of war that no matter how ruthless and powerful nature may be, humans are more dangerous. Because nature only acts to survive. Humans have intention. Humans hate.

***

Shiro’s jaw aches from the effort of chewing the tough food. He’s grown accustomed to Keith hunting for them, bringing back fresh meat and dropping it in front of Shiro – if he’s not mistaken, looking a little proud.

Now, though, Shiro can’t stop imagining what it’s like for Keith when he’s not there, what it’s _been_ like for three long years. He doesn’t like the thought of Keith on his own out here, in the harshness of the wild, facing danger and hardship with no one to make sure he comes out of it okay. It puts a wrench in his chest to picture Keith alone on a night like this, braced against the cold, defending himself from wild animals, potentially injured, caring for himself. It’s a matter of luck, really, that nothing’s happened that Keith couldn’t pull through himself. Yet.

Shiro spent three years wondering where Keith went, how he was. Not a single day went by without his thoughts turning to his friend, usually much more than once. But never did he truly allow himself to consider the possibility that Keith could have come to serious harm. It would have been more than he could have handled. Even now, with Keith safe and under his watch, mere feet away from him, thinking about it puts a shiver through him, and he wants to flee from the thought. Now, though – when all this is through, and Keith flies off on his own again like Shiro expects he will, he’s not sure he’ll have the privilege of ignoring it.

The scent of woodsmoke is sharp and prominent. The fire spits up embers, tiny sparks that float into the sky with the smoke, uninterrupted by any wind on the still night. Keith is staring into the flames next to him, fingers playing with the end of his braid. He must be nervous, too.

Shiro’s thoughts turn to tomorrow. It’s not anything unusual for either of them, nothing they haven’t done before. Clearly Keith has gained some additional skills in the interval since he last saw him, and he knows they work well together. For all intents and purposes, they’re well matched for Sendak and whatever coterie he has with him.

Still, he doesn’t like going into a situation as blind as they are. He knows Keith doesn’t either. They’ve come this far, though – too far to change the plan. And this is too important. He has to remember that there’s an actual goal here, not just a desperate attempt to reconnect with his lost best friend.

He takes a deep breath, shakes his nerves off. Between the two of them, they’ll be fine. They just have to be cautious, like he knows they will.

The night comes to a close, the fire doused and the horses cared for, and he settles into sleep on the cold, hard earth that he’s growing more and more accustomed to, Keith doing the same not far away.

When Shiro wakes with a jerk in the early hours of the morning, Keith is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is missing, and Shiro goes a little feral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway there! Thanks for sticking around :) 
> 
> Some additional chapter tags to be aware of: flashbacks of Shiro losing his arm (not detailed) & recovery, vague/implied threat of rape (that doesn’t & won’t happen), a bit of creepy face-touching
> 
> lmk if you'd like to know where any of these things are and I'll give skip-to lines.

The first thing Shiro feels is blind panic.

He scrambles to stand, spinning around and searching everywhere, trying to spot him. He must be wrong. Keith was right there. He’s just over the hill, or obscured by a tree, or gathering water.

He knows he’s not. Keith is _gone_ ; he can just sense it.

The horses are there, and all of Keith’s bags – but Keith is nowhere near. Shiro would know. His heart is pounding, and he has to clutch at his chest, like it might burst out if he doesn’t. He takes several deep breaths, tries to ground himself. He’s no use to Keith if he’s spiraling like this.

The fog from the day before hasn’t lifted, and only a touch of light filters through. It’s early though, barely sunrise, he can tell. On the ground are the remnants of their fire from last night, the burnt wood and scattered ashes. Their bags are where they left them, gathered near the horses – not bandits, then. He turns to the spot where Keith was sleeping. At first glance, nothing looks amiss, but as he looks closer, he sees that the wool blankets are rumpled a little more than they should be, and there’s a subtle scrape through the snow and mud. Signs of a struggle – but not much of one.

Shiro curses himself, truly furious at himself in this moment that he didn’t wake up. It couldn’t possibly have been that silent – even if Keith didn’t have a chance to scream, or to put up much of a fight, Shiro should have heard it and been able to jump to his aid. He knows Keith would have, were the situation reversed.

Beginning to pace like a trapped animal, Shiro rakes his hands through his hair.

“ _Shit._ ” How could he let this happen?

Shiro’s blood turns to ice. _What_ has _happened? Where is Keith right now? Is he…is he okay? What if he’s not?_

He can’t allow himself to think that way.

“ _Fuck_ , think logically,” he mutters to himself. Keith is a force to be reckoned with. He wouldn’t be taken down that easily. Shiro’s job, now, is to find him, and Keith will hold out until then. He has to.

The first question is how long ago was Keith stolen away; the second: by whom.

Looking to the horses, he sees that their eyes are wide enough to see the whites around the edges, their heads lifted high and ears twitching – they’ve been frightened by something, and recently enough that they haven’t settled down. It’s doubtful that whoever did this would have the brazenness to do it after darkness had lifted, so it probably wasn’t immediately before he awoke. He didn’t hear any signs of the culprits riding away, anyway.

That means that Keith could be anywhere from just barely out of reach to a couple of hours away. It isn’t much to work with. He can’t return for the castle for backup, or go to anyone for help – there’s no time. Shiro deflates, standing helplessly, uselessly, in the middle of their empty camp. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Keith would be so much better at this – he may not have the details, but Shiro’s pretty sure that finding people is something that’s been very much in Keith’s repertoire as part of his work with the Blade of Marmora. _Why didn’t they take me instead?_ he mourns internally.

Wait. Why _didn’t_ they take him instead? Surely a king is a much more valuable prize – why on earth would they have passed him over to steal away a self-exiled general instead?

The realization dawns on him all at once.

That about settles it, then. This isn’t some standard kidnapping for ransom by bandits or brigands desperate for gold. In all likelihood, Keith has been taken strategically. His memory jumps back to that band of Galra soldiers who were riding so bizarrely close to them. Perhaps it wasn’t a coincidence. And perhaps they didn’t go as unnoticed as they thought.

If he’s right, and Keith has been kidnapped by a group of Sendak’s soldiers sent out to find them, that answers the third question – where they went.

It’s a trap. Obviously. They want Shiro to go chasing after his stolen companion and walk straight into their arms.

And that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

The fear and panic that’s been pumping through his veins ever since the moment he woke up and the back of his mind whispered _wrong_ melts into a desperate anger. His head is spinning. A growl rips through his throat, a painful, animal thing. Perhaps the wilderness is getting to him.

The fear of what might happen to Keith if he isn’t successful, if he’s not fast enough, is too much to consider, so his heart tries to drown it out with fury. Sendak and his men have no idea what they’ve just done. He’ll make them regret this. And if he finds so much as a _scrape_ on Keith’s skin, he’ll burn down everything in his sight.

Steam puffs out of his nostrils into the cold morning air as he sweeps through the campsite, grabbing all of their scattered belongings into his arms and storming over to the horses, who shy away from his tempestuous demeanor. They snort, frightened, and shuffle backwards as far as they can where they’re tied to a tree.

“Sorry,” he breathes, letting some of the tension sink out of his shoulders, bowing his head sheepishly. He thinks of how Keith would chastise him for scaring the horses, if he were here. “Sorry.”

He puts down his bundle next to their bags and reaches an apologetic palm out to Astre, easing towards her and letting her sniff at his hand warily.

“I know. You’re worried too.” He pets her cheek when she lets him, heaves a heavy sigh. “We’re going to find him, though. I swear it.”

The animal can’t understand him; his words lose everything but the soothing tone she has learned to recognize. But still, from the way she levels him with her gaze, stern and firm, it feels like she’s agreeing. Like she’s telling him she’s going to hold him to that.

Shiro packs their bags and saddles the horses quickly. He doesn’t think he has a good chance of catching up with Keith’s captors before they get to their destination, as close as it is, but still, the sooner he can get to him, the better. They need to hurry.

He ties a length of rope between Astre and Lion’s saddles so he can pony her along with them. It will slow them down somewhat, but he knows Keith would never forgive him for leaving his horse.

They set off as the sun rises fully, beginning to burn off the fog. Shiro’s chest is tight, his heart hardened with determination. It doesn’t matter what trap Sendak has set. He _will_ get Keith back.

Keith never gave up on him. There’s no chance he’ll give up on Keith.

There’s a lot Shiro remembers clearly about losing his arm – the initial shock, the pain, the pervading scent of the medical tents that felt like it lingered in his nostrils for months. There’s a lot he doesn’t remember, too, clouded by the haze of trauma and fever; he’s lost entire chunks of time from that period. But the thing that stands out in his memory most of all is how Keith responded. How he stayed by his side through the recovery, supported and encouraged him through his frustration at learning how to use his new arm, forged with steel and imbued with Altean magic.

It was on one of the rare occasions that he and Keith were not together on the battlefield when the injury happened that rendered his arm too far gone to save. When the news reached Keith, he raced to Shiro’s side as quickly as he could, riding frantically through the night to reach him shortly after the doctors had to remove his arm. When Shiro regained consciousness, Keith was there by his bedside, and he refused to leave for the rest of Shiro’s recovery despite the doctors’ orders.

“I take orders only from my king,” he said, both hands clasped around Shiro’s clammy palm and eyes fixed on his unwaveringly. “If my king wishes me to leave, I shall. But that is the only thing that will move me from this bedside.”

The doctors gave up after that. They simply worked around him.

It’s still engraved in perfect detail in his mind, the look on Keith’s face. The fear widening his eyes, their surface shiny with wetness. The fierce determination in the set of his jaw, his cheeks pinkened from his flight through the night, wild pieces sticking out from his windswept braid. His hands trembled slightly where they gripped Shiro’s, took a wet cloth to stroke the sweat off his brow, but they were purposeful and unwavering.

Keith sat there in a hard wooden stool at his bedside for god knows how many nights, calling for nurses when his fever worsened or his stump bled through its bandages, waking him gently when his nightmares pulled screams from his throat. He wouldn’t leave, not to get a decent night’s sleep somewhere with a bed and without a man waking him up at all hours of the night with his noises, not to return to the battlefield. They lost that campaign, ended up having to retreat. Keith refused to ever say it was the wrong decision.

His steadfast devotion didn’t stop when Shiro was released from the doctors’ care, either. The arm affixed to him by their Altean allies after he healed was a miracle, but a difficult one. Throughout the process of adapting to it, Keith was with him, patiently helping him try again and again despite his frequent frustration. Every day, Keith was there, right where he needed him.

Perhaps that was when Shiro fell in love with him. It would make sense. But really, when Shiro thinks back to the way Keith’s voice was enough to pull him from his deep unconsciousness, how his pulse sped when he saw his face – he knows he already was.

***

Keith is cold, and the ground beneath him is hard and unforgiving. His skull pounds, and it makes him clench his eyes closed tighter, like somehow that will help. His mind isn’t upright; everything is topsy turvy, but before he processes anything there’s already an insistent whisper in the back of his mind.

 _Shiro_. _Shiro_.

The whisper is worried. He wonders why.

Voices come into his consciousness. They’re not familiar voices, but ones he recognizes vaguely.

All at once, it comes back to him – being awoken, knife to his throat, and before he could snarl and lunge forwards anyway, having his head turned by a hard grip in his hair to see that there’s a knife being held to Shiro’s throat, too. Being swept away, by the very Galra soldiers that had passed them earlier. Internally cursing himself that he didn’t see this coming, that he wasn’t more careful.

And the fear. Not for himself – he can get out of this, and if he doesn’t, it doesn’t matter that much to him either, is the painfully honest truth, one he would never speak aloud. But he knows this game. He knows he wasn’t just taken for his own sake.

 _Shiro_.

They’re using him as bait. Luring Shiro in. He knows it’s a trap. Shiro will realize that, too.

He’ll come anyway.

Foolish, honorable Shiro. He’ll walk straight into harm’s way for Keith. Keith, who doesn’t deserve a fraction of that loyalty. He’ll get hurt. Keith’s heart clenches painfully at the thought. Shiro never did know how to walk away from a lost cause.

***

A couple of hours into Shiro’s trek, nearly as soon as the fog has finally cleared and the sun is able to pierce through the clouds, it begins to snow. Not only snow, but snow hard, big chunks of it falling down, thicker and thicker as he goes. Of course it would snow now. The temperature is dropping to match, but Shiro grits his teeth against it and rides on, pulling up his hood to protect his head from the wet flakes.

Unfortunately, they ate the last of their dried foods last night, and Shiro isn’t nearly as capable a hunter as Keith, and certainly not in weather like this, so it’s likely he’ll be going hungry. The snow slows his movement, to his frustration. It shouldn’t take the rest of the day to reach Sendak’s hideout, but with things going the way they are, it’s looking like it will. It drives the spear of anxiety further into his chest, every minute that he spends still not knowing what has become of Keith, but he can’t push the horses any harder.

An advantage of the snow is that it makes anything that’s not white stand out – and Shiro pulls Lion to a sudden halt when he notices a patch of blue hovering just off the side of the trail. Moving closer, he can make out that it’s a piece of fabric, snagged on a branch. Snatching it in his gloved Altean hand, Shiro brings it closer to his face, inspecting it. There’s no doubt. It’s the ribbon Keith used to tie the end of his braid. His fingers clench into a fist around it. His pulse jumps at the evidence that he’s been through this way. Knowing Keith, it’s likely he left the trail on purpose. Shiro sucks in a deep breath, ignoring the way the sharply cold air stings his lungs.

He’s on the right track, then. Stuffing the fabric in his pocket, he spurs Lion onwards, faster than before.

 _I’m coming_.

Nature lends no importance to the trivial dramas of humans, however, and despite Shiro’s desperation to forge through the forest, the snow is unrelenting. It gets thicker, obscuring his vision, and eventually shifts into a full-blown blizzard, turning the forest into an indistinguishable blur of white. The horses are agitated, wanting to stop their journey and take shelter from the storm, but Shiro presses onwards despite Lion’s pinned-back ears, despite the icy snowflakes that sting as they whip against his cheeks.

He can’t afford to stop. Not for a blizzard, not for anything.

The snow is piling deep, completely obscuring the treacherous rocks and roots that litter the forest floor. Lion stumbles occasionally; his hooves slip, but he trusts Shiro’s guidance and walks on anyway. The downpour swirls around him, forces him to squint so the flakes don’t fly into his eyes. This is dangerous, he knows. It’s stupid and bullheaded to push on through this, and it could end in disaster, but every beat of his heart echoes with _Keith_. _Danger_. _Hurry_.

At a certain point, seeing what’s in front of him, even just past Lion’s ears, is impossible. Several times, tree trunks or branches jump out of the blur in flashes of snow-dampened black right in front of them, giving them just barely enough time to avoid running into them. Shiro ducks and dodges as the branches seem to get denser, nearly losing his balance with the sudden jerks and stops Lion makes to avoid a collision. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but if he continues on a downward slope he must eventually end up in the right place, he figures.

Suddenly, there’s a clatter of loose falling rocks as one of Lion’s front hooves drops out from under him. Reflexively, Shiro leans back to take his weight off of his front legs, and the horse scrambles backwards but recovers. He plants his feet and refuses to move, head held high in alarm and nostrils flaring from the near miss. Once he’s sure his horse is stable on his feet, Shiro leans forward, trying to peer through the snow to make out what it was that tripped him up.

At that moment, a gust of wind blows some of the snow below them aside, thinning it enough to reveal the dark grey abyss below. Shiro can distinguish a few large rocks sloping sharply downwards, barely a foot before Lion’s front hooves, and then a straight drop, who knows how far down. With a gasp, he reels back, urging Lion backwards until they’re a safe distance away from the cliff. One hand clutches at his chest, because it feels like his heart is trying to escape. That was close. Too, too close. For a minute, the three of them just stand there, frozen, recovering their bearings. Shiro shakes his head at himself.

 _You’re no use to him dead at the bottom of a ravine_ , he tells himself.

He holds on to the thought of continuing for one moment more, then lets it out in one long, frustrated breath that comes out as a billow of steam. It’s too treacherous to ride now, clearly, so Shiro dismounts. His landing is cushioned by the deep snow, his boots sinking down into it. Taking Lion by the reins, he leads the two horses, taking each step carefully, testing the ground hidden beneath the snow before putting his full weight on it, holding his other arm out in front of him to search for trees in his way. Like this, they make their way forward slowly, arduously, each step pulling him in to the deep powder so that he has to yank his foot back out effortfully every time.

He’s searching for somewhere, anywhere, that’s slightly sheltered, where they can stop to hunker down and wait out the storm. Finally, the blizzard lifts enough for him to spot a broad old pine, its branches stretching out and thick enough with needles that it will offer some respite from the snow beneath it.

Underneath its branches, the downfall is lightened enough to give them some relief, though the gusts of wind still blow some into their shelter. Shiro and the horses squeeze underneath the tree, and as soon as he’s taken the load off of their backs and brushed off the snow that’s accumulated on them, he collapses back against the sturdy trunk and sinks to the ground, exhausted.

He may not be being pelted as severely with snowflakes anymore, but Shiro is still freezing, the joints in his flesh hand becoming stiff from the cold despite his thick gloves. He flexes it with a wince. His face is completely numb as well, and while his heavy coat and layers trap most of his body heat, even that is beginning to fade. He may not be nearly as familiar with surviving in the wilderness as Keith now is, but he can still recognize this as a bad situation that could easily get very quickly worse.

He needs more warmth, so he drags the saddle bags towards him and pulls out his wool blankets, throwing them over himself. Still, it’s not enough, and a fire is out of the question – Keith could probably make it happen, but with every nearby surface covered with wet snow, there’s no way he’ll be able to start one. He opens one of Keith’s bags, looking for extra blankets or food or anything that might help him. Rustling through its contents, he realizes that the bag contains the few possessions Keith brought with him, which he realizes must actually be everything Keith owns, if he doesn’t have any home base like Shiro has gathered. It’s hard to think that everything Keith has, the only things that tether him to the world, to his past, can be held in this small satchel.

There are a few of Keith’s knives, the ones he doesn’t carry on his person at all times, and a couple extra ribbons to tie his hair. There’s another set of clothes folded up neatly, and when Shiro pulls them out, he almost doesn’t notice a small object tumbling out of the little package and onto the snow. When he sees it, though, his heart stops and his breath catches in his throat.

It’s a brooch, a sharply familiar one that had once belonged to him, but which he gave to Keith as a gift years ago after he noticed the way Keith always stared when he wore it to clasp his cloak. With trembling fingers, he reaches out and picks it up, brushing the snow off of its ornate surface and feeling the heavy weight of the solid metal in his palm. It’s a decorative brooch, a large gem nestled in swirling patterns of filigree, meant to be worn by someone of high status, meant to be seen. But it looked so much better on Keith, the deep red of its garnet against his throat, brushed against by locks of his dark hair.

Shiro stares at it, forgetting for a moment the blizzard raging around him, his achingly cold bones.

Keith kept this, all this time. This little gift, impractical and heavy and far from the top of the list of things Shiro would think he would bother to carry with him with such limited capacity. Shiro’s throat tightens and he finds it hard to swallow. After everything, Keith still has it.

He doesn’t know what to make of that.

But he does know that it puts a fire in his belly that won’t be put out by a little snow. He closes his hand around the brooch, presses it into his palm, then undoes his coat enough to tuck it inside, right up against his breast. It’s cold against the precious warmth of his skin, but he doesn’t mind.

This weather will pass. Shiro will hold on until then. He must. And as soon as it lets up, he’s going to find Keith and take him back from them. Nothing short of a sudden death will stop him.

***

Keith’s joints are aching sharply from where his arms are tied tight behind his back by the time he’s grabbed by the elbow and dragged, the wrenching of his arm sending a searing pain through the stressed joints that makes him hiss through his teeth.

He’s dropped after an unknown distance, more hard ground on his bruised knees. His mind whirs, trying to get his bearings again, to keep up with the changes in his environment when he can’t see anything. He’s inside, that’s for certain, and whatever room he’s been taken to now is warmer. He can’t help the way his body leans towards the source of the warmth, probably a fire if his ears are correctly picking up its slight rushing and crackling.

There’s a rough hand gripping his tied-together wrists, and suddenly there’s light, overwhelming his eyes and making him squint and wince until they adjust. As soon as they do, they’re wide open, looking around, scanning as much of his surroundings as possible and cataloguing it all to memory while he can. He can’t waste one moment of opportunity here.

He was right – there’s a fire in a large fireplace to his left, and the room is lit only by that; no windows are to be found. It’s sparse, no rug to cover the wooden floor, no decorations on the walls. It smells almost musty, like wood and dust that hasn’t seen fresh air in quite some time.

A derisive snort comes from behind him, and he whips his head around, giving himself a sudden stinging cramp in the neck, but craning around anyway to make out the man who sits slumped in a chair, half in shadow in the corner of the room.

“You can save your energy,” the voice drawls with thickly condescending amusement. It’s a voice he recognizes, albeit vaguely. “You won’t be making a grand escape.”

It takes Keith a moment of processing, digging back in his memory, but he identifies the voice as Ranveig, one of Zarkon’s generals, and a close ally of Sendak according to the Blade’s intelligence. From what he remembers, Ranveig was a particularly nasty one – accused of all matter of vile misdeeds before the war and during it, known to take pleasure in the most detestable aspects of war.

Despite his experience – and hubris and stubborn bravery – Keith for the first time finds a slight shiver of fear crawl up his spine.

As soon as he does, though, he forces the feeling back down. He can take whatever the Galra warlord has coming for him. He has no other choice. He hardens his face into a sneering frown, and levels Ranveig with his gaze, refusing to show any cracks in his armor.

“You’re a slippery one, I’ve been told. So we’ve made preparations.” The man’s lips curl into a slow, ugly smile.

Keith snarls. There are well-armed Galra to each side of him, and two behind him flanking the door. His restraints are sturdy and well-knotted, and he’s been kept blindfolded the entire time until now; he hasn’t been able to collect much information about where he’s being kept.

But there’s a critical variable in this equation that they’re not taking into consideration.

For a man only concerned with saving his own life, perhaps these measures would have been enough.

But Keith is thinking of Shiro’s life. And as long as he is alive, there is nothing that can stop him from protecting the one he loves.

“I assume you’ve figured out why we brought you here,” Ranveig muses. He pauses, pretending to consider something. “Although, I don’t know if it will really be necessary anymore.”

That catches Keith off guard, and he frowns, not knowing where the man is going with this. Ranveig smiles when he looks at him, looks almost like he could lick his lips.

“A terrible storm moved in behind you,” he explains, clearly relishing every word. “A dense blizzard, wind and plummeting temperatures. And King Shirogane, all alone…”

Keith blanches. He isn’t even able to hide it. Ranveig laughs. _No. Shiro is fine. He – he must be._

Shiro isn’t experienced at surviving in the wild. They had no stored food left.

Keith growls and thrashes against his bindings, using the pain it brings to fuel his anger, the hot pricks at the corners of his eyes. He’ll get out of here. He’ll get out of here and find Shiro, and Shiro will hold on until he gets there, and they’ll escape together, retreat back and gather more backup.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” he spits, putting as much venom into the words as he can.

Ranveig merely smirks, and leans forward in his chair until his whole face is cast in the firelight. He tilts his head and drags his eyes up and down Keith’s kneeling body, slowly, deliberately.

“Well. I won’t say I haven’t considered it.”

Keith’s stomach drops. He can’t help the telltale way he recoils. _The bastard_. Fear and hatred swirl together in his gut, so much of them that it makes him feel sick.

Ranveig stands from his chair, approaching with heavy steps, and Keith shrinks back and bares his teeth like a cornered dog. The situation is slipping out of his control. He curses himself. He can do better than this. This is what he _does_ ; he can keep himself together.

But he can’t, not when this man’s sickening fingers, his nails long and sharp, almost like claws, reach out and take Keith’s braid in their grip. Keith wrenches his head away but the grip tightens, catching him by his hair. Using his braid like a leash, Ranveig holds his head in place while he uses the other hand to stroke down to the tips of his hair, then coming up to stroke his scarred cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Bile rises in Keith’s throat, and when his hair is finally released, he jerks backwards, launching himself off balance and tipping onto his side on the floor.

Ranveig chuckles again. “We’ll have some fun while we wait for the embattled king, hm?”

With that, he gestures to the guards. Keith hears the door behind him creak open, and his boots pass in front of him before pausing.

“I’ll be back. Try not to miss me too much.”

Two of the guards leave with him, but two remain and the door is locked and bolted solid.

He shifts against the ropes binding him, testing them. They don’t yield, though the ones tying his ankles are looser than they could be. His blade is still strapped to his thigh, concealed. They didn’t check him for weapons, foolishly. Still, with as tight as the ropes around his wrists are, and as long as those guards stay there watching him…things aren’t looking good.

Keith takes a deep breath, centering himself. He’s gotten out of worse before.

He can guess that he’s somewhere in the compound Sendak has been hiding out in – they need Shiro to be able to find him in order for the trap to work. But he doesn’t have a good sense of what time it is, or how long it’s been, with how he hasn’t been given the chance to catch a glimpse of the light since he was kidnapped and blindfolded.

The news of a blizzard worries him, enough that he can’t allow himself to think about it too much.

It could even be an advantage – in the best case scenario, it has slowed Shiro down but not put him at risk, so Keith will have more time to escape and stop him from walking straight into Sendak’s jaws.

Keith squirms on the floor a little, twisting his wrists around. He can pass it off as discomfort – he is thoroughly uncomfortable lying there on his side on the cold floor, after all. The ropes have rubbed his wrists raw already, and the ones around his thighs are done too tight, cutting into the flesh painfully. Without the guards catching on, he’s able to maneuver his wrists around so that they’re next to each other instead of folded over each other, with his palms facing the backs of his thighs.

He thinks to the knife under his leggings. It would be _possible_ , in this position, to wiggle his way to the blade. If his back weren’t facing the guards, maybe he could manage it without being noticed.

Plan in place, Keith starts huffing and fidgeting, playing up his discomfort. The guards snicker behind him, and he cranes his head around to shoot them a glare.

“Listen, could you at least give me a hand here? I need to sit up.”

The guards exchange an amused glance and shake their heads at him in synchrony. Keith rolls his eyes. Figures.

It takes some painful straining and all the energy he has left in his sore muscles, but Keith manages to get himself back up into a kneeling position. He doesn’t actually need to exaggerate its difficulty, and by the time he’s up, he’s breathing heavily. But just as soon as he’s up, he starts wavering a little bit, checking in his peripheral vision to make sure the guards are buying it, then tips over and falls with a thump and a groan right onto his other side.

The guards laugh together at his misfortune, but he’s the one who’ll be laughing soon. Now that his back is facing away from them, he can begin to squirm again in a feigned attempt to get more comfortable, working his tied hands into his leggings. The guards are too busy enjoying his pain to be paying too close attention, and Keith is able to slowly, gradually work his hands down his right leg.

His fingertips brush the end of the knife’s handle. He bites his lip, holding back a gasp – he’s so close, just an inch further and he can grab it—

And then he’s spotted.

By chance, just bad luck, really, one of the guards happens to glance to just the right spot on Keith’s leg in the midst of his gloating, and his eyes narrow on it instantly. Keith freezes, but it’s too late; the guard strides towards him, hand going to his sword, and his lips curl into a snarl when he sees what Keith is attempting.

He’s kicked onto his side, knocking the breath out of him, and a booted foot presses down into his chest and squeezes all of the air out of his lungs in a harsh wheeze.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the guard barks, flecks of spit landing on Keith’s face. The other guard joins him, and crouches down. He grabs Keith’s thigh crudely, squeezing at it until he feels the hard outline of his blade.

Keith is powerless to fight as the guard shoves a hand into Keith’s leggings, heedless of his thrashing and snarling, and pulls the knife from its sheath, taking no care to avoid slicing Keith’s leg as he removes it.

“Nice try, you half-breed bitch,” he sneers, his ruddy, anger-reddened face far too close for comfort.

Keith turns away, refusing to look at him, or to let him see the frustration and desperate disappointment on his face.

The foot on his chest lets up, and he gasps for air, but as soon as it does it’s used instead to deliver him a clean kick in the face, aimed at his jaw and nicking his mouth as well. It snaps his head back and he yelps, not expecting the sudden pain and impact.

There are stars in his eyes, and he’s still too disoriented to put up a fight as he’s dragged up by the arms and pulled across the floor. They put him on the other side of the room, where it’s colder, away from the fire’s warmth. He’s sat up against the wall and his arms are tied tightly to an iron fixture. With twin smirks, the guards survey their work and deem it satisfactory.

“Well, they said he was wily,” one says to the other.

The other nods. “He’ll think twice about trying that again.”

Keith lets his head thump back against the wall and tries to regain his breath. He can feel the warm, tangy swell of blood in his mouth, the taste of iron. It drips down his chin, turns sticky as it dries. He can’t wipe it away. It’s drafty in his new spot, and he shivers from the cold. He can’t even shift positions to temporarily relieve some of the ache from his muscles and joints, now.

But his thoughts are not on his circumstances. They’re well outside the building, in the snow-covered hills, where Shiro may be fighting to survive – just to walk into the flames again. All for him.

He closes his eyes, and hopes Shiro doesn’t find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Twitter is @sweetfirewrites


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro comes to the rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the longer than usual wait on this one, but I hope it’s worth it :)
> 
> Additional chapter tags: torture (nothing particularly severe or graphic; details in endnotes), choking, Ranveig being creepy as usual, killing of minor characters (all enemies)

The blizzard doesn’t relent for hours. Shiro waits anxiously, nearly gives in and tries to set off again anyway several times, but he tells himself that Keith needs him to make it out alive more than he needs him to be there quickly. They’re just using him as bait for Shiro. They don’t have any reason to torture him…do they? Shiro has to grit his teeth hard against the thought.

He’s never had a violent disposition. It would be an admirable trait in general, but it isn’t considered advantageous for a warrior king to be gentle. He’s never enjoyed war, never relished cutting through flesh or drawing blood. But now, the threat of harm to Keith has something dark brewing in him that he hasn’t felt before. Maybe this is what those other men feel like. This lust for blood, a need to tear and rend building just under the surface, threatening to erupt onto anyone who lays a hand on his beloved.

The feeling frightens him, but he welcomes it. For Keith, he’ll do anything.

When the storm finally tapers into a moderate snow, Shiro packs his bags back up and saddles the horses. Before tying Keith’s bag closed, he hesitates for a moment, then pulls out one of Keith’s daggers and sheathes it in his belt. He needs to be prepared. It’s better to be safe than sorry.

Then, he’s back on course.

_I’m coming_ , he thinks, wishing there were some way Keith could hear him. _Just hold on_.

Snow continues to fall around him, docile now, coming down in pretty, delicate flakes like it wasn’t raging just minutes before. In his desperate attempts to ride through the blizzard despite not having any way of knowing where he was going, Shiro ended up well off of his desired track. Before moving on, he has to ride up the side of a hill to a high vantage point, in order to get his bearings.

At the very top of the hill, right up against the edge of the forest where the rocks drop off sharply, Shiro’s able to get a good enough view of his surroundings, anchored by the position of the sun, creeping low in the horizon now and barely visible through the snow and dense clouds. By his judgement, he’s about an hour off in the wrong direction, with half a day’s ride left once that’s been corrected for. Judging by the waning sunlight, that’s half a day he doesn’t have.

But Shiro won’t be deterred. If he has to ride all night before he gets there, it doesn’t matter. The forces of nature have held him back once, but he can’t allow that to stop him again. He feels the brooch, a constant reminder pressing against his chest, right above his heart.

They turn around and descend down the hill, silhouetted by the gloom – a king in a foreign land, a horse without a rider, weary and covered in snow, but heads unbowed and unbroken.

The day leaves them swiftly, with no regard for the travelers’ struggles. The sun flees from the sky long before Shiro’s ready for it to, with hours left to navigate the forest by only the dim light of the moon through the clouds, reflecting off of the snow.

Still, he rides on.

For a few stretches, he must dismount and lead the horses from the ground, picking their way down steep ravines or along narrow trails that crumble along the edges into red clay cliffs. At one point, they have to cross a wide stream with water too deep, and rushing too quickly to really be safe, but Shiro takes the gamble.

Every unnoticed branch whipping into his face, every stumble over a loose rock, every time the journey makes him want to turn around, it only adds fuel to the fire, sparks determined, furious energy in him despite his physical exhaustion.

The night is dark, but calm and still as the gentle snow continues to fall. Sendak’s base is an hour or so away yet, but after all this, it feels like that’s just over the next hill. It’s so close Shiro can already taste the blood in his mouth. He doesn’t have a plan for when he gets there. He’s not going to make one. Holding back and approaching this strategically, gathering intel on the layout of the complex and the best point of attack was thrown away the moment he awoke in a cold sweat with Keith an empty space beside him. The momentum that has carried him through these hills will be enough; something in him knows instinctively that his overwhelming urge to protect will render any attack against him useless. It’s unlocked something in him, something that will level anything that comes in his way.

It’s been a long while since Shiro found himself in combat, and it’s not something he can say he’s missed, but now, his hand itches for the hilt of his sword. His heart sings for blood, for justice, to protect and to avenge. Whatever faces him there, he won’t leave those walls without Keith safe in his keeping, and punishment doled out to all those responsible.

***

Nothing changes for a while. Keith can’t say for sure, but it feels like hours. If the grumble in his stomach is any indicator, it may be getting late – just past dark, perhaps. But he hasn’t been getting regular meals for the past few days, either, so it’s hard to say.

He lost the energy to hold his head up a while ago, so it’s hanging, chin pressed towards his chest and neck straining.

He doesn’t lift it when the door opens loudly, swinging on its rusty hinges and slamming again as heavy footsteps enter the room and head straight towards him. His eyes flutter open in time to see a familiar pair of boots enter his line of vision, stopping in front of him. A bulging leather bag drops to the floor with a loud thump and the muffled clang of metal. It makes Keith flinch, to his annoyance – he’s caught off guard. And it’s not a good sign.

His eyes inch upwards until they reach Ranveig’s face, twisted into a cruel smile.

Before Keith can think of appropriately disdainful invective to spit at him, the man drops down to his level, crouching in front of him and leveling him with a considering gaze. Keith’s eyes dart to the heavy bag slumped on the ground next to him, and Ranveig catches the look and chuckles darkly.

“I figured while I have you, I might as well take the opportunity to get some information.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Keith growls.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’ve been working with the Blade of Marmora; you have knowledge of them that is valuable to our efforts. What is it that those traitors say – knowledge or death?”

Keith swallows thickly. Ranveig is right, of course, and he was foolish to think it would escape his notice.

“What, so Sendak is sending his faithful lapdog to do his dirty work for him?” he snarls. If he’s going to have to endure this, he might as well bite back.

The jab seems to connect, and Ranveig’s expression darkens. The hard slap across his cheek is expected, and it echoes in the empty room with a lightening-like crack.

“I wouldn’t be so smug if I were you. You’ll be regretting it soon enough.”

“I doubt that,” Keith retorts. “I’ve been under far more capable hands than _yours_.”

He’s not sure why he’s riling the man up. It probably won’t serve him well when the “interrogation” begins. But he’s too angry and too filled with hatred for Ranveig and all he represents to help himself.

Ranveig shifts onto a knee and leans over to his bag, unbuckling it to reveal a jumbled pile of metal, a mix of gleaming and rusty, but all threatening. He makes a show of pulling out a few, examining them and deeming them satisfactory or putting them back to choose another tool, and laying them out neatly on the floor beside him, making sure Keith can see them.

Once he’s done, he leans back and examines Keith. His eyes feel like ants crawling on Keith’s skin, and he smirks like he knows it. He clucks his tongue and sighs.

“Well. Where should I begin with you, hm?”

“Isn’t that your job to decide?” Keith drawls.

Ranveig’s lips stretch into a thin smile. “I suppose you’re right. How about this: Where are the Blade of Marmora headquartered?”

Keith rolls his eyes. They both know he won’t answer.

The warlord gives a faux-put-upon sigh. “I was so hoping you wouldn’t make me do this,” he lies.

A punch lands square on Keith’s cheek. Along with the initial jolt and the dull throb that follows it, there’s a stinging at the corner of his mouth that means the heavy golden ring Ranveig is wearing probably cut him with the force of the hit. Keith sneaks his tongue out the corner of his mouth and tastes blood.

“Shall we start with something smaller?” Ranveig asks, his tone mockingly sweet as he leans in. When he notices how Keith recoils slightly, with nowhere to go but into the wall, he comes closer, until Keith can smell his sour breath and feel the heat of it on his skin. Keith strains at the ropes binding his stiff arms behind him. He wants nothing more than to take a good swing at the loathsome face hovering inches in front of him. He’d make it count.

“I assume you and your king were coming because you thought you could thwart Sendak’s plans.”

Keith is silent, but his glare speaks volumes.

“How much does the Blade know about them?”

Keith sighs. Ranveig only smiles wider.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

The man leans back – finally – to consider his line-up of instruments.

“We have you pretty tied up because of your…penchant for troublemaking,” Ranveig mumbles, dancing his fingertips along each tool. “Which unfortunately limits how much fun we can have…”

When he makes his choice, he plucks the instrument up almost delicately, though it’s wrought of hard, heavy iron.

“…But I’m sure we can figure something out.”

With that, he stands abruptly and turns on his heel, marching to the other side of the room. To the fire. At the same time as the realization dawns on him, Ranveig thrusts the iron into the flames and holds it there.

Despite the cold, Keith feels himself begin to sweat as he watches the iron grow hot enough to glow orange before Ranveig pulls it out. His mind is whirring, thinking of ways out of this situation, but he comes up empty handed. His restraints are solid, there are two guards at the door, and Ranveig is armed. Nevertheless, it’s instinct for him to squirm and strain uselessly against the ropes as Ranveig approaches, stalking towards him with the glowing iron in his hand, no question what he intends to do with it.

He crouches just in front of him, too close for comfort.

“Hmm, where should we start?” he muses. To Keith’s horror, his clawed fingers reach out to him. Keith hisses when they first make contact, tracing the edge of his jaw, then running down the column of his throat when he jerks away. The unwanted touch on delicate skin, skin that hasn’t been touched by _anyone_ in years, runs an involuntary shiver down his spine. The fingers widen and fit around his throat at the base, and Ranveig watches with hungry eyes. His hand slides farther down, and he hooks a finger into the collar of Keith’s shirt, tugging it down and to the side to reveal more skin – the hollow of his throat, the jut of a collarbone.

“How about…here,” he whispers, and the hot iron is pressed firmly to the tender skin just above Keith’s collarbone and held there through the sizzle of burning skin.

Keith muffles his own scream, refusing to open his pressed-together lips as the pain sears through him. When the iron is removed, his eyes are clenched tight and his chest is heaving, and the burn it leaves behind stings and throbs.

Ranveig is silent, and Keith waits for a long moment, expecting another burn. Instead, he feels fingers picking up his braid, and he flutters his eyes back open to see the man watching him carefully. He runs the braid through his fingers, feeling the bumps of it. He eyes it almost softly, thoughtfully.

“It’s a shame we don’t have more time,” he sighs, playing with the end of the braid where it’s begun to come undone. “I would have loved to have more time to play with you. You really are quite a lovely thing…” He lifts his eyes back to Keith, then, and tugs slightly on his braid. “I bet you’d look divine sitting on my cock.”

Keith growls, a furious, sputtering thing, and tries to jerk his hair out of the man’s hold, but his grip only grows tighter.

“I wouldn’t touch you if my fucking _life_ depended upon it, you foul dog,” he spits, pulling against Ranveig’s hold with all his might despite the sting it puts in his scalp.

“You’ll touch me if I want you to, you little slut,” Ranveig snarls, bearing his yellowed teeth. He yanks Keith toward him by the braid, and pulls his dagger out from his belt. Keith is expecting a cut, perhaps a matching slash against his other cheek, but instead, the blade passes in front of his face and sets its gleaming edge against his braid.

Keith’s eyes widen, and he only has time to shout “No!” before his hair is being sliced through in one clean cut, just above the level of his shoulders. He can only gape in shock as it falls back against his collarbone, the remnants hanging from Ranveig’s clenched talons.

“Are you ready to behave, now?” he grits. The iron is still hot in his hand, and he raises it with a hard gleam in his eyes.

***

When Shiro crests the top of one final hill, Sendak’s hideout comes into view.

It’s what Shiro would call a small compound, with one main building surrounded by a couple of smaller ones, all built of sturdy, tarred logs with thatched rooves. There’s a small bonfire burning outside the entrance to the largest building, and he can make out three Galra soldiers standing guard, huddled around it and warming their hands, chatting amongst themselves. Shiro snorts to himself. It’s not exactly a fortress armed to the teeth, then. Three guards don’t stand a chance.

Turning Lion around, he heads back down the hill just enough to take them out of view and dismounts, untethering Astre from Lion and walking her to the edge of the forest, just far enough that he hopes she’ll be hidden from anyone who happens through this way – or any soldiers, before he can bring Keith back to her.

“Stay here,” he whispers to her as he ties her to a tree trunk, patting her neck to soothe her. “Be safe. Don’t be seen.”

Lion waits, impatiently, prancing in place until Shiro swings himself back into the saddle. The horse can sense the unsettled energy that only grows as they get closer. He misses the rush of battle, and he feels it coming over the next hill.

Back at the hillcrest, Shiro holds back for just a minute, envisioning his attack.

The military strategian in him knows that it would be advantageous to keep his element of surprise, to take out the guards in a way that doesn’t alert however many people are inside to his arrival. He has Keith’s bow and arrows, slung on Astre’s saddle – but it’s not his weapon of choice; he’s never been the marksman Keith is, and he doesn’t have the practice of years hunting for his food. From this distance, he doesn’t like his chances of shooting true.

He shifts in the saddle, and Lion strains against the reins. They’re both agitated by the restless energy that seems to be reaching a boiling point, the tension building just under the surface.

The other option, the one that’s feeling more appealing right now, is just to charge, to throw caution to the wind and blaze out through the shadows, unexpected and unstoppable.

There’s a moment of almost peaceful stillness as he considers his options, and then a scream pierces the night, an agonized sound that at once freezes Shiro’s blood and sets it aflame with pure fury. The decision is made for him.

He sets off down the hill at a gallop, Lion’s feet thundering against the snow-covered ground.

The guards hear, standing and turning to find the source of the disturbance to this quiet night, but they don’t stand a chance. Shiro is already flying towards them at breakneck speed, sword drawn and held aloft. They’re felled before they can even sound the alarm, and Shiro doesn’t slow or falter until the moment he comes to the door. He pulls Lion to a sharp stop and vaults off of the saddle in one movement, running the moment his feet touch the ground.

He barges through the door, charging down the hall in the direction of the scream – _Keith’s scream_ , a sound he never, ever wants to hear again, but that he’ll never be able to forget. There are a few more Galra along the way that he dispatches with hardly a second glance. His focus is on a singular point. He breaks open every door down the hallway, leaving them swinging on their hinges when Keith isn’t inside.

The final door Shiro bursts through is flanked by two guards, but he takes them out easily with square hits to their temples. Inside the threshold, as soon as his eyes adjust, what he sees makes him freeze.

His eyes pick out Keith first, slumped against the wall with his arms tied behind him. Crouched in front of him is a Galra solider – Ranveig, he realizes after a moment – who has his hand squeezing around Keith’s throat. He sees the hand around Keith’s throat, and he sees blood, and it rips a roar out of his chest.

His entrance startles Ranveig back, and both he and Keith whip their heads towards Shiro just as two men running in from the hall converge on him, grabbing onto his shoulders and attempting to pull him back. At the same time, Ranveig leaps up into a defensive stance, dagger in hand.

“Shiro!” Keith cries, hoarse from the hand around his throat. He’s wide-eyed with shock, though why, Shiro doesn’t know – there’s no universe in which he doesn’t come after him, no matter what.

He throws the men off of his back after just a moment of struggle, the adrenaline and fear and anger imbuing him with a strength he wouldn’t otherwise have. Ranveig comes for him then – but he has his sword at the ready, and it swings down to meet Ranveig’s dagger with a heavy clang. The man may be equipped with a lesser weapon, but he’s large and strong, and for several drawn out moments the two of them are locked in a stalemate, pushing against each other in equal opposition, between them the gleam of metal and bared teeth.

The whole thing is a blur; nothing that’s happening matters, not as long as he gets to Keith. There’s only a room of empty space between them now, and Shiro knows without doubt or hesitation that he will cross it. His eyes flick to Keith while he and Ranveig are locked together, and he sees Keith watching them, fear obvious in his expression.

_I’m here for you,_ Shiro wants to tell him. _They won’t touch you again. I won’t leave them with hands to do so. This doesn’t end without you in my arms._

His moment of distraction grants Ranveig the opportunity to twist his dagger to the side in a clever maneuver that disengages their blades. With a growl, Shiro presses forwards, meeting Ranveig with brutal strokes, both hands gripping his sword, all the force in his muscles funneling into the clash of metal that rings through his bones, all the way up to his shoulders.

He’s pushing Ranveig backwards into the room, meeting his every move with brute force, if not finesse – but he doesn’t need it. He takes in every detail of his opponent, like time has slowed enough for him to study the man at his leisure. He sees the grit of his teeth when they collide. He sees when sweat begins to bead on his reddened brow.

Quickly, their clamor attracts the attention of the guards and soldiers in the compound, but Shiro feels no fear as he hears the stomping boots of several of them approaching from the hall. Two of them burst in behind him. Without looking, he hears the telltale ring of metal as they unsheathe their swords, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Keith writhe helplessly against his binding, desperate to come to Shiro’s aid. But there’s no need. At least now it will be more of a fair fight.

Shiro pushes Ranveig off balance with a particularly hard thrust, makes him loose his footing and stumble backwards, lending Shiro enough time to twirl around and face the two soldiers running at him. With one arm, he occupies the first’s sword, while his free hand flies to his belt and pulls out Keith’s dagger. Without a second thought, he dodges the second soldier’s strike, letting him throw himself off balance with the weight of his sword, and sinks his dagger deep into the man’s gut. When he withdraws, the man slumps to the ground, and he turns his attention to his partner.

In the same moment, Ranveig recovers and lunges towards Shiro’s back. He’s alerted by Keith’s sharp cry of his name just in time to break his lock with the soldier and swing around to block what could have been Ranveig’s killing blow. Shiro’s locked between the two men, unable to do anything but block both of them without allowing the other to strike at him. Distantly, he’s aware of more footsteps coming down the hall.

Shiro may be in a haze of adrenaline and rage, but he isn’t stupid. He’ll soon be outnumbered. He’s holding his own at the moment, but only just. Thinking fast was always Keith’s job.

_Keith._ Shiro will get him out of here. There simply isn’t any other possibility.

In an instant, Shiro parries, giving himself just enough time to leave Ranveig and swing his sword around in a deadly arc to bring it down in a sickening squelch halfway through the soldier’s neck. He tugs his sword loose, and as the man is falling, Shiro drops Keith’s dagger to the floor with a clatter. He hears Keith gasp, but almost before the sound has passed his lips Shiro is stopping the dagger under the toe of his boot and then kicking it across the floor so that it comes to a stop just between Keith and the wall – just close enough for his fingers to grasp.

There’s no time to wait and see if Keith is able to free himself, because Ranveig is on him again. Shiro leaps out of the way of his strike, but not enough, and his blade slices through the fabric of Shiro’s tunic and into the muscle of his shoulder, deep enough to sting but shallow enough that it doesn’t stop him from whirling around and rocking the man back with a solid punch to the jaw.

Ranveig wobbles and stumbles back – it’s temporary, Shiro knows, but it buys him some precious time. His eyes dart to Keith in the seconds he has before what sounds like two more soldiers will burst through the door, and sees him struggling against the ropes, on the verge of working himself free. Their eyes meet, and Keith’s are hard with determination.

Shiro turns just in time to meet the two soldiers who rush in. It takes every bit of his energy and training, but he holds steady against them. While he fights them, he chances a glance over his shoulder to check on Keith, who’s free now and scrambling to stand on wobbly feet. It occurs to Shiro that his joints must be stiff and his limbs numb for being tied for so long, but he has to dispatch these two soldiers before he can rush to his aid – he’s reminded of their presence when one manages to catch him across the ribs with a shallow cut that could have been much worse.

Once they’ve fallen, he turns back to Keith. He’s on his knees, locked in combat with Ranveig, who’s looming over him, trying to push him back onto the ground. Ranveig has Keith’s wrist in one hand, fighting away his blade, and his own dagger in the other, pointing towards the hollow of Keith’s throat. Ranveig is straining towards him, and Keith appears to be using all his strength to keep him from advancing, to fend off the deadly point of his knife.

It takes no hesitation at all for Shiro to lunge forwards and grab Ranveig by the collar of his shirt, heaving him up and around only to punch him, throwing him off balance and giving him the opportunity to run him straight through with his sword. His sharp blade sinks through Ranveig’s stomach with little resistance, and Shiro almost feels a sick twinge of satisfaction at the gush of blood that follows. Something primal in him is satiated knowing that he’s eliminated this threat, carried out the consequences of touching Keith.

His attention has left Ranveig before he’s even hit the ground, and Shiro is falling to his knees in front of Keith, immediately taking his face in his hands.

“ _Keith,_ ” he gasps.

His hands are careful on Keith’s cheeks – there are cuts and bruises on his face, and a collar of them around his throat, and as Shiro continues his initial scan over him he spots _burns_ on his skin. The knowledge that Keith has been hurt begins to set him alight with fury once more, but he pushes it down. Now isn’t the time. Not when Keith is looking at him like that, eyes wide and full of emotion. He melts into Keith’s gaze, and the relief he feels is palpable.

These bastards may have touched Keith, but he’s alive, and he’s okay, and Shiro is here to take him away from here.

His happy musing is interrupted, however, by Keith.

“What the hell are you doing here, Shiro?!” he demands. Shiro nearly drops his hands in shock, but he can’t bear to move them from where they are. “Do you realize how incredibly stupid this was?! You came in here with no idea what was facing you, with no backup – you could have gotten yourself killed!”

Keith’s anger is like a bucket of cold water dousing him, and he merely blinks at him, confused.

“Uhh…I – I came to save you,” he explains, as if that weren’t obvious. Adrenaline is still rushing through his veins and clouding his mind, but he’s pretty sure he’s not so impaired that he’s missing some key element of this.

Keith’s eyes flee from his, and he looks down, his eyebrows knitting.

“I – I could have saved myself, I…” He shakes his head, and it’s only when Shiro sees his hair swishing with the movement that he realizes it’s been cut off at his shoulders. “God, this is why I wanted to do this alone.”

Shiro frowns, his own anger boiling up now in return. Why is Keith reacting like this? He doesn’t understand.

“And this is exactly why I _didn’t_ want you to do it alone!” Shiro shouts back, incredulous, his grip on Keith’s face inadvertently tightening, fingertips pushing into the soft flesh of his cheeks.

He’s so confused, and everything is so clouded by this cocktail of untamable fear and rage and desperation that reached a peak when he got here and now has nowhere to go, and he feels like he’s spiraling because he could have lost Keith; it’s only due to luck that he got here soon enough, and he loves him so goddamn much he couldn’t live if Keith were gone, and nothing makes sense until Keith lifts his head and looks back into Shiro’s eyes and he sees everything he’s feeling reflected in them.

His beautiful violet eyes, rimmed with red and swimming with wetness, so wide and so dark that they seem to reflect the entire fire that dances beside them. It’s the same look he saw when Keith knelt at his bedside, frightened and wind-kissed, that day he lost his arm, and something clicks.

Shiro’s breath stops halfway through his throat, because he thinks he finally understands. And even if he doesn’t, there’s nowhere else for the emotions swirling inside of him to go but out, not anymore, so he softens his grip on Keith’s face just enough to be sweet and he kisses him.

***

Keith’s life ends the moment Shiro’s lips slot themselves against his. He wakes up in a new body, in a new brain with a new life. Or maybe this is heaven, or he’s fallen asleep and this is his dream. Or, perhaps, as a strange old astronomer once told him, there are many other worlds outside of our own, some of which are almost exactly the same, and he’s inadvertently stepped through a stitch in space and ended up in one of those alternate universes.

Or maybe, just possibly, by some cruel, beautiful, unbelievable twist of nature or god or whatever is pulling the strings out there, he’s gotten this whole thing wrong.

Because Shiro’s kissing him, and he can’t breathe. It’s like when Ranveig had his hands around his throat, except it’s coming from within, like his heart has just swollen too big and blocked his airway. They may be in the middle of an enemy encampment, surrounded by death and blood drawn by Shiro himself, all for Keith’s sake, with more danger just around the corner, to come at any moment, but Keith _melts_ into Shiro’s kiss like he’s some virgin laid in white satin sheets by his lover instead of a warrior covered in bruises that ache where Shiro presses them.

Their surroundings may not be romantic, but Keith’s never felt anything better.

Without his permission, his hands grip Shiro’s collar and his cloak. Shiro’s moving his lips, the back of his mind tells him, but all he can really do is _feel_.

He’s aware, distantly, that the seconds are ticking down before everyone else in this compound will be alerted to what just happened and they’ll have a lot more unwanted company, but god it’s hard to break away from this.

It’s Shiro who pulls back first, panting, eyes darting across Keith’s face.

“I was so afraid,” he whispers.

Keith’s heart clenches, and he wants to kiss Shiro again, but he keeps talking. “I’m never letting you go again,” he breathes, shaking his head vehemently. “I’m sorry but I can’t. I’ll do whatever I have to so that you’re happy, so you’re okay with it,” he hurries. “You don’t have to stay in the castle; hell I’ll follow you around in the wilderness for the rest of my days if that’s what you want, but I just – I can’t let you leave again.”

He seems desperate, trying to impress his words upon Keith, and Keith doesn’t understand what he’s saying but there’s no time; he can hear the footsteps of soldiers who’ll descend on them at any moment, and he’s not going to die without knowing for certain how Shiro feels.

For just a moment longer, he allows himself to search Shiro’s face in wonder, flicking back and forth between both of his eyes.

“We have to go,” he whispers.

Shiro seems to shake out of something and nods, standing and offering a hand out to Keith.

He needs it, he’s embarrassed to realize – after being tied up for so long, his legs are weak and unsteady, but Shiro is solid and strong.

Just as they leave the room, Keith stops, pulling back on Shiro’s arm. Before Shiro can ask what’s wrong, he’s leaning down to search the either unconscious or dead form of the guard lying prone outside the door until he finds what he’s looking for. He pulls his blade from the man triumphantly, and tucks it into his belt. With a nod to Shiro, they’re off, flying down the hallways – him only with Shiro’s assistance – until they burst through the front door into the crisp night air.

Shiro whistles, and after a moment the thundering of galloping hooves comes into earshot. Lion comes to a sliding halt in front of them, kicking up snow. Shiro helps Keith on first, sensing without him having to say anything that he doesn’t have the strength to pull himself up onto the tall horse, then follows to seat himself in front of him. Keith hesitates for a moment, unsure about wrapping his arms around Shiro’s torso, but the way they suddenly bolt off at speed makes the decision for him.

He’s never been so happy to see a horse as when they make their way over a hill and he spots Astre, waiting faithfully by the tree she’s tied to, grazing on some grass sticking up out of the snow.

Their pace back into the woods is hurried, but not frantic; he’s sure there are Galra chasing after them, but they have enough of a head start that he doesn’t think they’ll be found.

When they reach a place to stop, they do. They settle down around a tranquil pond at the base of a gentle dip in the landscape, a little sheltered sanctuary where they can regroup out of harm’s way.

The horses are fed and watered and left for some much-needed rest. The humans are in need of rest, too, but Keith doesn’t see that too soon in his future. His mind is reeling, racing, retracing the events of the past few hours over and over. His wounds are stinging, his bruises aching. The memory of Ranveig’s hands on him still makes him shiver. It’s a shock every time he feels the ragged ends of his hair brush against his neck. But what’s echoing through his head more than anything is that kiss…and what Shiro said after.

Once the horses are tended to, they sit together by the edge of the pond, settling not too far apart next to each other. They can’t start a fire; it would point them out to the Galra soldiers searching these woods for them, but it’s no matter. Mercifully, the air is still and doesn’t bite too sharply at their skin, and the cold has lifted enough that they can withstand it without the added warmth. After the snow, the clouds departed, and the sky is now crystal clear, bright with an array of pinprick stars and a perfect full moon high in the sky that casts the forest in a cool, pale light.

They’re both hesitating with each other now. Keith can feel it in the silence that sits between them.

“Do any of your injuries need tending to?” Shiro asks, carefully.

Keith shakes his head and wraps his arms around his bent knees. “Yours?”

“None that can’t wait.”

It’s so quiet, almost eerily so, the way it always gets after a fresh snowfall coats the land and muffles every sound. Keith stares at the surface of the pond, black as ink and completely still, so that its glassy surface reflects every star above them. He almost wants to lean forwards, to reach out and touch its surface to see if it’s actually a little piece of sky fallen down to the earth.

This place feels like a precious slice of peace, somehow separate from the rest of the world. Almost sacred, with the same quiet stillness one finds in a place of worship. It loosens some knot inside Keith. It makes him feel like maybe he can voice things he’s never been able to before.

Shiro doesn’t speak. Keith can still feel the ghost of his lips. He reaches up to trace his own with his fingertips.

He isn’t sure what to say first. He should thank Shiro for saving him, probably. Apologize for yelling at him. Ask what he meant by that kiss.

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is – “Did you really mean what you said back there?”

He gets the courage to turn his head, to look over to Shiro, who’s blinking at him, unsure how to respond yet.

“A-about leaving the castle and following me around in the wilderness.” There’s more vulnerability than he thinks there’s ever been in his voice, but it feels okay, like it fits, like the night is tranquil enough to make room for it.

Shiro nods, and he swallows. He almost looks afraid.

Keith frowns slightly. “But – that means…You couldn’t be king and be galivanting around with me kingdoms away,” he protests.

Slowly, Shiro nods again. “I know. I – I don’t care. Keith…” He takes a breath, and lets it out in a little puff that crystallizes in the air. “Keith, that doesn’t matter to me. I don’t need to be king. I would give up my kingdom in a heartbeat to be by your side, if that was what I had to do.”

It’s almost too much for Keith to process, but he tries. He only realizes he’s been staring and not responding for too long when Shiro starts to look worried.

He pales, but something seems to shift in him nevertheless, some decision he’s come to. He sits up a little straighter and leans forwards towards Keith, placing his hand down in the snow between them, testing the space, inviting Keith to meet him there. Keith dares to look back up at his face, and his eyes are so open and raw, honest in a way they haven’t been with each other in a long time. With his white hair, lit by the moon, against the backdrop of this pristine, untouched snow, he looks ethereal, like he belongs in this place that carries a hint of magic with it.

“I don’t ever want to be without you again. I – I can’t.” Shiro sighs. Keith doesn’t know how, but he’ll do anything to remove that pain behind Shiro’s eyes.

“I’m sorry—" he starts, ready to apologize again for leaving, but Shiro cuts him off.

“Keith, I’ve been in love with you for a very long time.”

Keith’s lips form around an _oh_ that his throat won’t voice. His eyes are saucers and his hands tremble where they’re clasped together.

“I can’t even say when it started,” Shiro continues. “But I am. And I won’t pretend not to be. Not anymore. Not after I almost lost you.”

Keith wonders for a moment why Shiro is blurry, then realizes that his eyes are welling up with tears. One escapes, and before it can even hit his cheek, Shiro’s thumb is there, catching it and wiping it away. His hand is cold and caked with snow but Keith turns into it anyway, pressing his cheek into Shiro’s palm. It settles him somehow, fulfills a need he didn’t even know he had.

“I love you,” he hears himself whisper against the soft skin of Shiro’s wrist. His eyes have slipped closed, but he opens them so he can see Shiro’s expression shift into one of wonderment and something like awe.

A smile graces his lips and it’s the last thing Keith sees before he’s being kissed again. Shiro’s lips are firm, lingering, pressing so much feeling into his skin it almost burns. But it soothes, too, lets Keith whimper out a breath it feels like he’s been holding for years.

When they part, Shiro rests their foreheads together and they simply breathe, watching their breaths escape visibly and mingle together in the air. Shiro’s metal hand comes up to cup Keith’s other cheek, stroking the loose strands of hair back to tuck behind his ear.

“I – I almost told you, the day you left,” Shiro admits, and it breaks Keith to see that there are tears slipping from his eyes now, too. “I thought maybe you felt the same way. But then when you disappeared…”

Keith’s hands fly up to encircle both of Shiro’s wrists, to keep his hands where they are, because it feels like Shiro’s huge hands splayed across his cheeks are the only thing holding him together. He shakes his head vehemently, sniffles and gasps through his tears.

“No. No, you were right. Shiro, God, I – I think I’ve always loved you.”

Shiro searches his eyes like he can’t quite believe it, but desperately wants to.

“That’s why I left,” Keith explains. There’s something about this night, this place, that takes down whatever barriers were left and allows him to say everything he thought he’d never get a chance to. They stay like that – only the stars know how long – and just lay everything bare before each other, speaking in hushed tones so as not to break the spell.

It’s a long time before Shiro’s hands leave their station on Keith’s cheeks, and even then it’s only so they can sit more comfortably, shoulder-to-shoulder leaned back against a snowbank.

A flash of movement in the corner of Keith’s eye catches his attention, and they both gasp as a bright red fox bounds through the snow on the other side of the pond, kicking up puffs of the soft powder and pausing with a paw in the air to look at them for just a moment, then leaping off into the forest again.

Shiro weaves their fingers together, strokes the center of Keith’s palm.

They’ve said so much, but it feels like only the beginning. Keith’s eyes are growing heavy, though, and as the adrenaline wears off a weariness settles deep into his bones that’s hard to ignore.

Shiro tilts his head at him and smiles. Keith can’t believe the tender way he looks at him.

“We should sleep,” he whispers.

Keith wants to protest, but a yawn betrays him. He has to remind himself that they don’t get to stay here forever, just staring into each other’s eyes in a place that seems to defy time and space. Their mission has been compromised, and soon enough they’ll have to figure out where they go from here. Before they attempt that, a good night’s sleep is in order.

He nods, and Shiro helps him scoot down on the snow, reaching over him to pull a wool blanket out of their bags and drape it over both of them. They’re on their sides facing each other, and Shiro shuffles forward and places an arm over Keith’s waist, watching him carefully like he’s somehow still not entirely sure if this is okay yet. By way of answer, Keith rolls closer so he can tuck his face into Shiro’s neck.

He wants to say something, some meaningful to leave Shiro with before he falls asleep, but he only gets as far as opening his mouth before he slips under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Details for tags: Keith gets punched, burned with a hot iron, choked, and Ranveig cuts his hair 
> 
> //
> 
> FINALLY
> 
> :) Thanks for reading


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Keith’s face is half in shadow, only half lit by the firelight at his side, but Shiro can still see the way it shifts, settling on an emotion Shiro can recognize. Keith understands. He nods, slowly.
> 
> Something in Shiro breaks, then, and he can’t keep himself tethered anymore."
> 
> //
> 
> With Keith rescued, they take a chance to regroup, and reunite with an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this chapter was a long time coming ;) Enjoy!

Keith’s kidnapping and subsequent rescue requires a reevaluation of their plans. It means that somehow, Sendak and his people were alerted beforehand to Keith and Shiro’s arrival, and it means that even if it was just pure luck that those soldiers were riding through the forest at just the right time and happened to spot them, they can be sure that they’ve lost any advantage of surprise that they may have had. It also means, more than likely, that there’s a double agent among the Blades’ ranks.

They decide that it’s too dangerous to just try to go on with their initial plan and storm the compound after regrouping themselves; that would be destined to fail. They need backup.

The morning is crisp and bright, and despite the dire state of his mission, Keith feels lighter than he has in a long time as they saddle the horses and pack up their bags in a companionable silence.

It isn’t a long ride to their new destination; they should arrive before nightfall, and Keith has to admit that he’s craving the feeling of falling asleep in an actual bed tonight. It’s a luxury that’s been few and far between for him for the past few years, and he could certainly use it now. There’s still a lingering ache in his muscles from being tied up for so long, and his cuts and burns are stinging.

But the birds are chirping and the sun is glinting off the fresh snow and Shiro smiles at him over Lion’s back, and the worry in the back of his mind just doesn’t seem to matter all that much. It feels almost like he’s woken up in a different world this morning, after all the air that was cleared between them last night, the revelations he’s still struggling to wrap his mind around.

_Shiro loves him._

It feels forbidden to even think it, sends a shiver up his spine. He hasn’t really had a chance to process it yet. But he knows that it’s terrifying, and amazing, like an avalanche or a forest fire.

Shiro’s watching him – he can feel it prickling against his neck. Shiro doesn’t seem to be able to _not_ watch him, alert and attentive, pulling up beside him with a concerned frown every time Keith winces or yawns. It’s more than Keith really knows what to do with, and he rolls his eyes at the overprotectiveness, but it sparks something warm inside his chest nonetheless.

As they cross the border from Daibazaal into Altea, it’s like the forest knows it’s in a better place now, too – everything is just a little bit prettier, loses that threatening edge to its beauty. The trees no longer have curling branches like skeleton fingers and rough, black bark. The snow is soft and pristine and perfect, unmarred by the tracks of wolves promising that danger is hiding just around the corner. Keith feels his shoulders sink a little, his tightly wound muscles uncoiling slightly.

It’s nice to be back on friendly ground.

There’s no sign that they’ve been followed, and while Keith remains alert, he doesn’t feel like they’re presently on the run. They stop to water the horses whenever they need, and Keith even hunts them a couple of rabbits to eat – though Shiro won’t let him very far out of his sight.

They don’t talk more about…everything; all of the most pressing things have been said already, and they both probably need time to process. But it’s all there, hanging in the air between them, a loose thread tying them together.

When they reach the castle, the sun is just beginning to set. It comes into view gradually, peeks of gleaming white marble flashing between the trees, until the forest parts and opens wide as if to make way for it, presenting its glory for all to see. The castle appears to soar, its elegant turrets reaching skyward in seemingly gravity-defying spindles – they actually are gravity-defying, Keith happens to know. Altean magic isn’t only for practicality.

The two of them stop there on the crest of the hill to admire the picture it makes, rising up in the distance in front of a paintbrushed pink and purple sky. Over there, on the other side of the valley, there’s no snow, as if the sun is just that few degrees warmer at the heart of the Altean kingdom. It’s a different kind of beauty than that of Shiro’s castle; a grandeur less fortified by imposing strength. But it would take a very unwise man indeed to assume that meant their closest allies were in any way lacking in strength.

The castle is just as magnificent as Keith remembers it to be. Which reminds him that he has another trial awaiting him that he wasn’t expecting to have to face.

Shiro must sense the anxiety that twists in his stomach at the realization, because he leans over on his horse and speaks to Keith softly.

“You know, you don’t have to be afraid of seeing her again,” he says gently. Keith can hear the kind, sympathetic smile in his voice, but he won’t look over.

Coming back to Shiro was terrifying, nearly impossible. This reunion is lower-stakes, but still…

Shiro isn’t the only one he hurt by disappearing for three years.

“She was upset when you left, yes,” Shiro continues. “Just like I was. But she doesn’t hate you. She’ll be happy to see you again.”

Keith glances over to him, giving him a skeptical look.

“Really,” he presses. “I’m sure of it.”

Keith looks skyward and heaves a heavy sigh. Apprehension still sits heavy in his stomach. But just like before, he supposes he doesn’t have any other choice.

Allura greets them at the castle gates.

She must have been alerted by her lookouts – or perhaps she just knew. Keith wouldn’t really be surprised.

They dismount, and she rushes to them with open arms – not just Shiro; Keith, too. To say he’s surprised when she throws her arms around his shoulders and wraps him in a hug would be an understatement. She’s warm and soft, and she smells of sweets.

“ _Keith_ , finally, I’m _so_ glad you’re here.”

She doesn’t sound like she’s lying through her teeth, and Keith feels his hackles go down slightly.

“Please, come in; my men will take your horses.”

They explain to her why they’re there, but before any planning of next steps, Allura insists they settle in and at least put down their bags and warm up from the journey.

To Keith’s moderate horror, she further insists on escorting him to his quarters personally, which feels suspiciously to him like an excuse to get him alone. Shiro doesn’t seem to like the idea of it either, casting a worried glance his way, but he’s pretty sure that’s more about his newfound reluctance to let Keith go anywhere without him than it is about Keith having to face an uncomfortable conversation.

When she does sweep him away, he realizes too late that she’s bringing him to her chambers first, instead of his.

“Uh, Allura, I think we’re going the wrong way…” he tries, glancing around nervously.

“No we’re not.”

Her grip on his elbow is not letting up, and he resigns himself to his fate. She steers him straight into her room and sits him down on a cushioned stool in front of a large wooden vanity, then immediately turns to rustle through its drawers.

He merely watches in silence, afraid to speak up.

But when she’s pulled out what she needs, she drags a chair across the floor and sits nearly knee-to-knee with him.

“Are these all of your wounds?” she asks, gesturing at his face and neck.

Keith blinks. He was expecting to at least be reprimanded, first. It takes him a moment, but he shakes his head slightly and pulls down the collar of his shirt enough to show the couple of burns hidden beneath the fabric. She purses her lips and nods, then sets to work. First, she uncorks a glass vial of sharply scented liquid that makes Keith scrunch up his nose involuntarily. She dabs some of it onto a cloth and then reaches out, slowly, telegraphing her movements, to wipe at the cuts on Keith’s face. Keith holds his breath, but he finds that he doesn’t feel the need to flinch away.

The liquid is cooling, but it stings too where it cleans the open cuts. Allura’s touch is gentle, and he finds himself relaxing bit by bit despite himself. She clucks her tongue. “These aren’t deep; I don’t think they need to be bandaged. As long as you keep them clean.” She shoots him a stern look, and it’s so familiar that it almost shocks a laugh out of him.

After the cuts, she moves on to his burns. She unscrews a shallow container and takes some of a creamy ointment on her fingers, rubbing it into each of the red, blistering marks on Keith’s skin. She’s quiet as she tends to him, lips pursed and eyebrows etched into a frown. His guilt bubbles up anew. He shouldn’t be a coward about this. He shouldn’t avoid the conversation he knows they have to have.

“A-Are you angry with me?” He doesn’t really mean to ask it like that, but the words come out anyway.

Allura’s fingers freeze in their path for just a moment, and then she continues. Her frown shifts into one of consideration, and she hums softly.

“No, I wouldn’t say I’m angry. I’ve missed you, but I understand why you left.” Ice blue eyes flash up to his, then away before they can scare him off. His skin prickles with discomfort. He’s always figured she knew, but he doesn’t like having the confirmation nonetheless. He opens his mouth, almost wanting to tell her that _that_ whole situation has changed, but it’s so new and undefined that he isn’t sure of the words for how.

“I don’t entirely understand why it meant you had to disappear from _all_ of our lives, but…” she gives him an arched eyebrow, just a gentle reprimand, and for some reason it makes him smile. “But no, I’m not angry. I know it was hard for you. I’m just happy to see you again.”

The implicit forgiveness feels light a weight lifted off of his chest, and he breathes a little easier.

He’s not sure he regrets the way he did things, because at the time it felt like a means of survival, but he doesn’t relish the hurt it caused his friends.

Allura finishes tending to his burns, sticking patches of gauze over the worst of them to protect them while they heal. When she’s done, she puts everything back away, only to open another drawer and pull out a pair of scissors and a comb and set them on the vanity.

“Now. Would you like me to take care of your hair?”

***

Shiro’s footsteps echo resoundingly in the cavernous marble hallway. The guards stationed along the walls sneak questioning glances at him and exchange meaningful looks with each other that they probably think he doesn’t notice.

He’s been pacing in circles in the hallway ever since Allura took Keith away, because he just cannot settle down without Keith in his sight right now. He knows _Allura_ didn’t kidnap Keith, but the events of the past two days have activated some protective instinct in Shiro that makes him _very_ bothered when he can’t keep eyes on Keith to make sure he’s okay at all times.

It’s stressing him out, and he really hopes Allura will be finished with him soon.

He might just wear divots into the polished stone floors, at this point. The guards almost certainly are beginning to believe he’s crazy.

In an attempt to distract himself, Shiro strides over to one of the narrow, tall windows that line the castle walls and fill the hallway with lovely, diffuse light. Hands clasped behind his back to prevent himself from wringing them, he looks out over the rolling fields that surround the castle, blue in the twilight, and occupies himself with tracing the path of a thin blue ribbon of a stream that weaves through the landscape below.

He thinks he’s doing a good job of distracting himself enough to calm down, but when he hears the click of a door unlatching and opening behind him, he jumps and spins around, and it’s obvious he never stopped being on edge.

Allura comes through the doorway first, follow by Keith, and she catches Shiro’s eye for a moment and smiles with a hint of mischief that makes him nervous. He’s nearly bouncing on his heels to see Keith, though, so his gaze quickly slides past her to search him out.

When Keith appears, Shiro’s breath is stolen straight from his lungs. The rough cut of his hair has been refined, trimmed shorter near the front to frame his face with the rest left to brush his neck. It’s almost like it looked when Shiro first met him, and he’s hit by a confusing wave of warm nostalgia mixed with arousal. He misses the braid, but Keith looks _good_ , and it’s all Shiro can do for a moment to gape and stare dumbly.

“Your—” Shiro stops to clear his throat. “Uh, your hair – it looks nice,” he stammers out awkwardly. Keith’s eyebrows jump up, and a pretty, faint blush paints his cheeks.

“Oh,” he says, reaching up to touch the ends of it like he forgot it had changed. “Um. Thank you.”

Allura clears her throat, making them both jump. She looks between them, barely concealing the amusement in her smile.

“Alright then. Shall we convene in my meeting rooms to discuss our next moves?”

Right. There’s a fairly serious situation they’re in the middle of. Shaking himself off, Shiro nods.

“Yes.” He looks to Keith, unable to stop himself from giving him a quick once-over, reassuring himself that no harm came to him while Shiro was away from him. “If that’s alright with you.”

He knows Keith must be exhausted; he certainly is, but they didn’t come here to relax. Keith nods.

“Sendak wasn’t even at the compound when Ranveig took me there. Which makes me suspect they were prepared for us. Someone knew of the plan and warned Sendak in advance.”

Allura nods, chin balanced on her folded fingers.

“When they had me they…tried to get information from me about the Blades. So they know I’m involved with them, and probably that they sent me on this mission.”

Shiro tenses up, his nails digging into his own palm at the reminder of what they did to Keith. It still makes his blood boil, his teeth grind. Keith glances over to him before continuing, no doubt noticing the subtle change.

“It sounds like there’s a spy in the Blade’s ranks,” Allura says after listening to their full explanation. “Or in Shiro’s castle,” she adds. It is a possibility. It’s hard to say which is more likely, at this point.

“Which means that right now, we can’t trust either,” Shiro responds.

Keith nods, chewing on his lip in thought. “I suppose it’s just as well that we don’t have time to send for help from either, then,” he concludes.

“Right,” Allura says. “We have limited options, but as you both well know, it is of the utmost importance that we stop this coup before it begins. We are still in the process of building peace, and right now it is tenuous at best. I’ll lend you some of my best troops, and I’ll join you in a coordinated attack.”

“Thank you,” Shiro says.

She waves it off. “Of course. We’ll need to formulate a more detailed plan, but…” She looks between the them. “I think a hearty meal and a good night’s sleep is in order for the two of you, first.”

It’s a testament to their weariness that neither he nor Keith try to protest the offer.

“We’ll strategize tomorrow. For now, you can head to your chambers or…” her eyes flick between them again, “wherever you wish to go, and I’ll have you called for shortly when dinner is prepared.”

With that, their meeting is adjourned, and they file out of the meeting room. Out in the hallway, he and Keith both hover for a moment, like neither one is quite sure of their next move.

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you at dinner, then,” Shiro says, trying to conceal how anxious it makes him to leave Keith’s side right now.

Instead of heading off down the hallway, though, Keith stands where he is and narrows his eyes at Shiro.

“You were injured during the fight yesterday, weren’t you?” he asks, though it sounds like he already knows the answer. Shiro nods slowly. “And it hasn’t been dressed yet?” It sounds almost like an accusation, and paired with the arch of Keith’s eyebrow, Shiro half feels the need to defend himself.

“Well, there hasn’t exactly been a chance yet…”

Keith makes a little, disbelieving noise, and crosses his arms. Behind the bravado, though, a shadow of doubt and nervousness passes over him before he speaks again. When he looks up to meet Shiro’s eyes, there’s a vulnerability to them that makes Shiro feel possessive, glad there’s no one else there to see it.

“May I?” he asks, softly.

It takes Shiro’s waterlogged brain a moment to figure out what he’s referring to, but when he catches up, he feels his cheeks heat.

“Oh, uh, sure,” he stutters.

On a mission now, Keith takes off down the hallway, glancing back to make sure Shiro’s following him.

“Allura put some medical supplies in my room for when I need them again,” he explains, and he leads Shiro there without stopping.

Whatever the part of Shiro is that needs to be glued to Keith’s side now is appeased, but the rest of him is feeling fluttery, nervous, almost shy. There’s no reason for it, but he can’t help himself. Everything with Keith is so important; he feels like he’s walking on a frozen pond, trying to make sure the ice doesn’t crack.

Inside, Keith closes the door behind them, and Shiro’s throat nearly closes up. The room is bare, though elegant in the way everything in the castle is, with a large fireplace in one wall, a roaring fire in it lighting the room, and a four-poster bed on the other. Keith gestures for Shiro to sit on it, and he settles on the edge as Keith rustles through the supplies.

Despite his nerves, part of Shiro is finally able to relax, too – he’s able to have Keith close by and all to himself, something he’s grown used to over the past few days traveling together, and he can be sure that he’s safe.

When Keith has taken out what he needs, he stares at Shiro expectantly, like he’s waiting for something. Shiro blinks at him blankly for a moment, then realizes what needs to happen before Keith can tend to the slash on his shoulder.

“Oh! Right, sorry.” He hesitates for a moment longer, unsure what’s the best way to give Keith the access he needs without inadvertently making him feel uncomfortable. He settles on untying the neck of his loose shirt enough so that he can slide it off one shoulder, exposing the dried blood and the angry red cut across the swell of muscle on his upper arm. He recalls briefly that there’s a smaller cut on his abdomen, too, but decides to stay quiet about it.

He notices Keith’s throat bob as he swallows, the light dusting of pink that appear on his cheeks.

Shiro isn’t sure why he feels like this. They’ve both already confessed their _love_ for one another, after all. That should settle it. But it feels like there are still some cobwebs stretched between them that need to be pulled down.

Keith clears his throat, and a little, determined crease appears between his eyebrows. He reaches out and, with tentative fingers, traces the inflamed outline of the gash. The touch of his fingertips is so gentle that it makes Shiro let out a tiny gasp, too soft for Keith to hear.

“I’m going to clean it first,” Keith explains. “It’ll sting a little; I’m sorry.”

Shiro almost laughs – as if he could possibly bring himself to care about the pain when Keith is touching him so carefully.

He wraps a hand around Shiro’s arm to steady it and gets to work, intensely concentrated on his task. Carefully, methodically, he cleans it, then smooths a special Altean ointment on its edges. He says nothing, too focused, but Shiro can feel the warmth of his hands, the soft tickle of his breath.

He barely breathes, himself, like he’s trying not to startle off a deer in the forest. Keith isn’t running away, though. He’s staying close, even when he’s finished wrapping a bandage around Shiro’s shoulder. Instead of retreating into his own space, Keith hovers. The skin exposed by Shiro’s opened shirt prickles under the path Keith’s eyes take over it, tracing across each bare inch. Shiro watches every minute expression on Keith’s face, every flutter of his eyelashes.

Cautious fingers follow, making Shiro jump. For a second, Keith moves to pull away, but at the same time, he lifts his eyes to meet Shiro’s, and they lock and freeze.

“Keith,” Shiro breathes.

Keith nods. His eyes slide down to Shiro’s lips.

Before he can think twice about it, Shiro stretches up and closes the gap between them, capturing Keith’s lips in a kiss. They tumble into it easily once the seal is broken, and Keith pushes closer, his fingers squeezing tighter around Shiro’s bicep. There’s the sound of Keith sucking in a breath through his nose, and then he’s opening his mouth, just enough for Shiro to take the invitation and kiss him deeper, to taste the backs of his teeth.

A hand settles to the side of Shiro’s mouth, and both of his own go to Keith’s hips, steadying him as he leans further into Shiro like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Keith’s breaths are shaky against Shiro’s mouth. He knows the feeling. It’s overwhelming, finally having this, after what feels like a lifetime of dreaming. And from the way his hands seem to open and close reflexively on Keith’s hips, testing his solidness beneath them, his presence, he knows it’s all amplified by nearly losing each other, by having to see each other hurt. It’s left its mark, that fear, and it makes him hold on tighter.

Keith keeps shuffling closer, knees knocking into Shiro’s. It almost feels like he’s about to climb into Shiro’s lap. Shiro shudders at the thought. His hands grow bolder, hungry for skin, and so they nudge under the hem up Keith’s shirt, sliding upwards to splay out against his ribs as their kisses become wetter.

Just as Shiro’s mind is slipping, allowing everything but Keith to fall away – there’s a knock on the door.

They jump apart, just startled more than anything. Shiro curses the sound. Keith runs a hand through his hair, flustered, and they both wait a second, trying to catch their breath. The knock comes again, insistent. Shiro sighs.

“Yes,” Keith calls, turning to the door, but leaving his hand on Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro savors it.

“Dinner’s ready,” Allura’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “I’ll see you two at the dining hall in a minute!”

Shiro and Keith exchange a wide-eyed glance, both going red.

Dinner is reviving, sorely needed. Shiro has to stop himself from moaning around the tender meat and thick gravy.

“Please give my compliments to your cook,” he tells Allura as soon as his mouth isn’t full.

She nods, the knowing smirk that’s been playing at the corners of her lips ever since she called for them in Keith’s room never quite leaving.

Keith is ravenous, and Shiro’s happy to see him eating his fill. He must certainly need it, after what they’ve been through. He feels an odd strike of jealousy of the castle cook for getting to provide for Keith when he couldn’t.

The meal doesn’t drag on; everyone’s too hungry and tired to put on any airs or make small talk, and they don’t linger afterwards.

It’s only once they’re back in the hallway and saying goodnight that Shiro’s hit by a wave of discomfort. It takes him a moment to place the feeling, during which Allura heads to her bedchambers and he just hovers in the hallway, hesitating. This is the point where he and Keith have to separate, to go in opposite directions down the hall towards their respective bedrooms. The parting fills him with unease. Keith hovers for a moment, too, and when Shiro looks over he’s watching him, curious and a touch worried. Keith offers him a small smile that’s almost a question and waits a moment longer before turning around with a soft “good night” when Shiro doesn’t answer it.

He deflates when Keith rounds the corner and disappears out of his sight. His feet shuffle, uncertain. But when the echo of Keith’s footsteps disappears, too, he takes himself back to his own room.

When he gets there, though, Shiro can’t sleep.

He can’t settle, can’t even get himself to lie down in the bed. The trails of adrenaline left in his blood are too much, and they won’t let him sleep here, alone, with Keith out of sight and out of earshot. It keeps his heart beating faster, keeps him pacing in his bedroom, going from corner to corner and trying to find things to do, like a caged animal, anxious and irritated.

Eventually, he gives in and pulls out his night clothes that have gone sadly unused since he left the castle – if he’s going to be resigning himself to a sleepless night of tossing and turning and staring at the ceiling, he should at least be comfortable for the first time in a week. When he’s beginning to disrobe, though, shedding his jacket and tossing it onto the mattress, he’s distracted in the midst of pulling his shirt over his head by a metallic clink. It’s the brooch. He forgot he still had it. Shiro picks it up and finishes changing. He feels like it’s staring at him, sitting there on the bedsheets, and he narrows his eyes at it.

He should really return it.

Keith will probably notice it’s gone soon, and he doesn’t want him to worry.

Before he really even makes the decision, his hand is reaching for the candle at his bedside and he’s walking through the empty, dark castle halls.

The sharp edges of the brooch dig into his palm, and he only grasps it tighter. His own shadows against the wall, cast by the orange light in his hand, are swollen large and shifting, haunting.

The anxiety of not being with Keith gradually morphs into nervousness about being with him, the closer he gets to Keith’s door.

They’re in love, sure, that much is clear now, but that doesn’t mean that everything else is immediately obvious. It doesn’t make it easy to go so suddenly from pining to mourning to _having_ , somehow. It still feels half like a dream, the words on Keith’s lips in that clear, silent night, the way he _kissed him back_ , and Shiro needs to know that it’s real.

Despite his apprehension, his feet carry him through the halls swiftly, unwavering.

He doesn’t hesitate until he’s standing in front of the towering wooden doors. His metal hand, poised to knock, hovers raised in the air for a moment. The other option is to slink back to his own room, defeated, and spend the rest of the thin hours of the night wondering and worrying, imagining that Keith has been stolen away in the night once more. So he knocks.

The door opens after only the barest pause. Keith looks surprised, but not as surprised as he could be. He’s dressed for bed as well, sleepy and soft and unguarded. It makes Shiro’s heart clench up almost painfully, at the same time that he relaxes, partially appeased to see Keith, safe and unharmed.

“I – I wanted to bring this back to you,” he says, holding the brooch up to glint off the light coming from inside, a shiny object to attempt to distract Keith from his true motivations.

Keith blinks at it, then at him. Then, instead of speaking or taking the brooch from Shiro’s hand, he pulls the door open further and steps aside, opening a path for Shiro to enter. His shoulder brushes against Keith’s chest as he passes him. The room is pleasantly warm; there’s a roaring fire in the fireplace, and it looks the same as it did earlier, with the exception of Keith’s clothing tossed in a pile on the end of the bed. He turns around to see Keith hovering in front of the closed door, watching him. His eyes flick down to the object in Shiro’s hand, and he offers it out again.

“I found it when I was looking for another blanket during the blizzard. I didn’t mean to keep it – sorry.”

Keith takes it, turns it over in careful fingertips. “Oh,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”

Mission completed, Shiro now has no excuse not to leave and go back to his own room. His instincts aren’t satisfied, though, whatever’s been so unsettled in him refusing to calm. He has such a need to feel Keith, solid and real, to soothe the uneasy prickle at the back of his head. He clasps his hands together behind his back to keep himself from reaching out.

Keith is just watching him, curious but careful, giving no hint as to what he wants. Shiro can’t unravel the emotions swimming in the big, dark eyes that stay locked on him; they won’t tell him if he should leave or stay, so he gives in. Shiro sighs, letting it deflate some of the tension in him.

“I can’t sleep alone,” he admits. He doesn’t have to speak very loudly to be heard, competing only with the rush and crackle of the fire, and it’s a good thing, because he’s not sure he can. “I’m still all…wound up,” he huffs, “after – after everything.” There’s a lump in his throat, all of a sudden, and he finds it hard to continue to speak.

Keith’s face is half in shadow, only half lit by the firelight at his side, but Shiro can still see the way it shifts, settling on an emotion Shiro can recognize. Keith understands. He nods, slowly.

Something in Shiro breaks, then, and he can’t keep himself tethered anymore.

His metal hand reaches out in a jerk, an aborted movement, and his weight shifts towards Keith.

“Can I—?” He can’t articulate it, but Keith must know what he needs, or maybe he’s just willing to give him whatever it may be, because he nods jerkily.

As soon as he has the permission, Shiro stumbles across the room and is on Keith in a moment. He gathers him up in his arms, surrounding him as completely as he can. He buries his face in Keith’s hair, breaths him in, and squeezes, just a little, just to feel that Keith is there, that he’s flesh and bone and he won’t slip out from between his fingertips.

His arms are wrapped around Keith so he can fold him into his chest, close enough that he can feel Keith’s heart beat against him, and it lets him finally breathe. It’s steady, strong, a concrete confirmation that Keith is okay, and with each beat it soothes him. His flesh hand goes to wrap around Keith’s shoulder, the other one his hip, and he’s gripping too tight, he knows, digging into delicate flesh with more strength than he should use, but Keith isn’t protesting, so he can’t bring himself to stop.

Once he’s assured enough of Keith’s realness against him, he lets up just a little, leans back so that he can look at him, because that’s what he needs next. Keith’s face is buried in the crook of his shoulder, familiar hands are curled so tightly around the fabric of his shirt that their knuckles have gone white. Gently, he weaves a hand into the hair at the base of Keith’s skull and lifts him out of his hiding place. Keith goes easily, lets himself be pulled back so Shiro can get a good look at him.

His cheeks are flushed the prettiest pink, and the firelit shadow of his eyelashes falls long against them, fluttering softly. He lifts his gaze to meet Shiro’s and his breath catches in his throat to see the shine of wetness in his eyes. It’s not right. There should never be tears in Keith’s eyes. A growl wants to rumble in his chest but he doesn’t let it rise up his throat, doesn’t want to scare Keith off.

He’s blinking up at him, and there are cuts and bruises on his face that begin to raise Shiro’s hackles again, but he doesn’t look hurt right now. His lips are parted, plush and inviting, and behind the tears his eyes are wanting. Shiro is reminded of earlier, the way Keith pressed against him, trying to get closer and closer. He’s pressed against him now, too, and Shiro basks in the feeling, the warmth. He can feel each breath in Keith’s chest expanding against him, short, shallow little things.

Lidded eyes flick momentarily to Shiro’s lips, and the hands clenched in his shirt tighten just minutely.

“Shiro,” Keith breathes, and that’s enough. The protective need in him has been sated, but it shifts into something else, another itch that takes him over with its insistence. Whatever primal instinct carried him through his fear and anger to save the one he loves morphs into another one, one that feels just as predatory as protective. The hand on Keith’s hip clamps down harder, metal on tender flesh, and it gets Keith to gasp.

“Shiro, I – I…” Shiro cups his face, thumbs his cheek. Keith is shaking his head, struggling to get out words for something too big to name, too hard to explain. Shiro understands, though. He feels the same thing.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, hushing him. “I know. I know.”

There’s so much to say, so many words that could fill the space between them, but Shiro can’t have that. He doesn’t want space.

He _needs_. He needs to take the breath from Keith’s lungs, to sustain him with his own; he needs to crawl inside of Keith, wants to give him a piece of his own bone to wear around his neck.

They come together and it’s desperate, hard enough to feel the press of teeth behind their lips. Shiro wants to taste every part of Keith, to lick every noise he’s capable of making out of his mouth. He holds Keith’s face in place and won’t let them part, not even when his lungs start to protest – breath can wait. Keith can’t.

Keith melts into it instantly, returning every drop of Shiro’s want with his own. He’s plastered to Shiro’s chest, heartbeat fluttering like the tremble of a frightened rabbit. But Keith isn’t frightened, not with the way he presses himself closer, drops his mouth open at the slightest encouragement and lets Shiro push inside. Shiro’s not used to feeling like this. Uncontrolled, a wildfire, driven by feeling. Possessive, hungry, biting down too hard on Keith’s lower lip, overwhelmed with relief and fear and anger and love – god, he’s so in love.

“I love you,” he pants into the space between their mouths. “I adore you.” He’s surprised at how rough his own voice is.

Keith is looking at him like he’s made of stardust. His eyes are glazed, and they mirror back at Shiro everything that he’s feeling. “I love you,” Keith echoes back to him.

“You can’t – you can’t leave me,” he pleads.

Keith shakes his head so fast his hair bounces around him and he holds Shiro tighter. “I won’t. I promise. I won’t.”

There’s a plush fur spread out in front of the fireplace. They’re more likely to make it there than the bed, so Shiro steers Keith backwards. His hands take up so much of Keith’s waist, and it makes him shudder. Keith is clutching to him tight, their lips still locked, as Shiro pushes at his shoulders gently, lowers him down when Keith gets the message and lies him down on the fur.

He has to anchor a hand in Keith’s hair to pull back from his lips without Keith just chasing him up, wraps his fingers all the way around Keith’s wrists and strokes the soft, delicate skin there, coaxing them to loosen and let go of his shirt. He needs to lean back. Needs to see Keith, laid out in front of him. All for him.

_Mine_ , a voice at the back of his head growls. Shiro’s chest swells, pleased by the sight.

The bit of Keith’s chest that’s exposed by his loose-collared nightshirt is flushed already, and Shiro flattens a hand against it, feels the heat of his skin. His hand slides upwards, fitting against Keith’s throat for just a moment, then up his neck to stroke through his hair.

He wants to be tender, sweet, but it’s hard with this restless energy, this longing finally realized, the need that Keith is projecting right back.

“Come here,” Keith whines. Shiro can’t deny him.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs against the warm skin of Keith’s neck. His skin is salty here, and it vibrates when he moans.

Shiro’s heard that sound before, he realizes. Many years ago, when he was only just beginning to realize how deep his feelings for his best friend ran. He remembers lying awake in a tent at night, hearing these _noises_ coming from the tent beside his – he knew immediately what they were, and who they were coming from. He remembers how it had gotten him hotter than he’d ever felt before, how he’d palmed himself over his thin pants, but stopped himself – with difficulty – because it would just be so _wrong_ to do that listening to his best friend.

Now, though, he has no such qualms.

Shiro’s lips latch onto the column of Keith’s throat, sucking and biting and laving over the skin. A flare of possessiveness has him determined to cover up the collar of bruises left by Ranveig’s hand, to replace each one with a mark of his own.

“No one else is ever going to touch you.”

Keith’s squirming underneath him, craning his head back to give Shiro more space.

“A – always only ever wanted it to be you,” he pants.

The way Keith’s moving, arching into his touch, even when he knows it’s probably too rough; he probably should start slower – it spurs that animal instinct in him. He delivers a bite to Keith’s throat, right over the center of it, right where everyone can see, and know. His hands find the hem of Keith’s loose nightshirt and shove it up so they can take their fill of bare skin. They explore boldly, pressing in to test his solidness, to feel his breath rise and fall in the center of his stomach. His fingertips find the spaces between each of Keith’s ribs and dig in as softly as he can stand to, skate up to brush firmly over a pebbled nipple.

It gets a breathy gasp from Keith, when he touches him there, so he does it again, harder, rubs over it and then presses in until Keith arches off the floor.

“ _Shiro_ , oh my god.”

Shiro makes a pleased rumble against his throat. He nuzzles into it, gives him another nip.

He wants to learn every place that makes Keith cry out like that. He won’t rest until he has.

“Shiro, _ah_ , come on.” Keith tugs on his hair until he untucks his face from Keith’s neck to look at him. He’s still playing with his nipple, doesn’t think he can stop, really. Keith keeps biting his lip, eyes rolling back in his head a little, but he’s trying to talk.

“I love you,” Keith pants. Shiro nods dumbly, plucks a messy kiss off his lips just because he can. Keith is twisting beneath him, and Shiro’s hand wraps as far around his waist as it can, holding him to the floor because he doesn’t want Keith going anywhere. But he’s not trying to, Shiro realizes when Keith gets his legs free and outside of Shiro’s, and spreads them, pointedly.

“I want – need you.”

Shiro’s still processing, but his body isn’t. His hand finally lets up on Keith’s nipple, probably sore and red by now, and drags down his side to his hip, squeezing once just to feel it, then grabbing his thigh and hiking it up to settle their hips together more closely.

All he hears is _want_ and _need_ , and _yes._ Whatever Keith needs, he will provide.

Hands are on his chest, pushing him up, and Shiro goes, though he doesn’t understand why Keith wants him off when he’s just opened his legs for him. When he’s kneeling up above him, though, Keith reaches for his shirt where it’s been rucked up and wrangles it over his head. _Oh, right._ Shiro pulls his own shirt off in return, then moves to remove his own pants, then Keith’s, wanting to move through this part as quickly as possible so they can be back against one another.

He’s in such a hurry that he almost doesn’t take the opportunity to stop and just _look_ – but passing that up would be a crime. When he’s back, shuffled up between Keith’s parted thighs, he gives himself a moment to skate his eyes all over him. He takes him in hungrily at first, but quickly the feeling softens, shifts into something else. There are new scars all over him – new to Shiro, but clearly not to Keith, some faded, some more fresh, but all telling stories that Shiro doesn’t know yet. He’s thinner than when Shiro last saw him without layers of clothing, but more muscled, too; results of the harsh life Keith’s been living.

It aches, seeing the evidence of all Keith’s been through during these cold, lonely years. His hands turn reverent; he runs his fingertips along the scars he can reach. When his eyes make their way back to Keith’s face, he’s watching him closely. With trembling fingers, he reaches up and traces the edges of the cut on Shiro’s shoulder, frowning at it. It’s clear in his eyes that he’s feeling the same sadness.

Shiro bends down to get closer, holds himself up over Keith steady on one arm. Keith is beautiful, of course, spread out beneath him there. His hair is splayed in a cloud around him and the firelight plays along his skin, highlighting its smooth dips and swells. Beside him, the metal of Shiro’s arm shines distinctively in the light, a sharp contrast.

Shiro looks at it and his heart sinks a little. They’re so far from the innocent, unblemished souls they were when they met, all those years ago.

But Keith is looking at him with adoration, and now that it’s in reach, his careful fingers reach out to Shiro’s face, run along the scar that slashes over the bridge of his nose. Keith has one of his own, of course, one that he earned for Shiro, so he returns the gesture, smoothing a thumb over the mark on Keith’s cheek.

He’s imagined having this with Keith many times, but it never felt all that important. It was just one piece of the whole of his dreams, of being with Keith, having him. But now it feels like something they _need_ , like maybe this is just the thing to soothe the burning in Shiro’s throat, the tightness in his chest, that primal fear that isn’t quite convinced, isn’t certain that everything is okay.

Keith’s hand is still there, touching his face with the utmost gentleness, and Shiro turns into it. His fingers close around Keith’s wrist, and despite the smaller man’s considerable strength and fortitude, they wrap all the way around it and it feels almost delicate in his grasp. Shiro presses a kiss into his palm.

He would do anything for Keith. Give him anything he wanted.

He doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until Keith gasps, and for a moment he’s embarrassed, but then Keith’s sliding his hand through Shiro’s grip only to grasp Shiro’s hand and pull it down to his lips.

The breath freezes halfway out of Shiro’s lungs when Keith takes two of his fingers into his mouth.

It’s hot, and wet, and it sparks that need in him anew. It make him push them in further, along Keith’s tongue, testing how far he can go before Keith’s throat jumps a little in a gag. He explores, feels the silky-soft inside of his cheeks, the bumpy ridges of his molars.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. His voice raspy and low, nearly unrecognizable to his own ears.

Keith nods, lips still pursed around his thick fingers. He begins to swirl his tongue around them, getting them wet and well coated.

Shiro swears. “I love you. You – you’re amazing.”

He collapses clumsily down onto his forearm, letting himself press down against Keith, shoving himself further between his open legs. His fingers inadvertently pull down on Keith’s jaw as he shifts, wrenching his mouth open and dragging his lip down over his lower teeth obscenely.

“I’m never letting you go.” His free hand takes a fistful of Keith’s hair, wraps it around his fingers like a tether to keep him close. “I _can’t_.” His voice breaks, and Keith gently pulls his fingers out of his mouth.

“I know. I know.” Keith responds by hooking his legs around Shiro’s hips, arching up into him. “I love you. And I need you, Shiro, please—”

“Alright,” Shiro nods, “I know. I understand.” And he _does_ , he knows how Keith’s feeling, the itch under his skin, the desperate need to cement something between them through flesh and fire.

He gets his hand between them, into the warm space between Keith’s thighs, where he nudges them to open even further.

Shiro’s been thinking about this for years; he wants to _tease_ , wants to take it slow and make it soft and pull out all his tricks so Keith will never think of bedding another. But there just isn’t _time_ , with this urgency taking over both of them, with battle on the horizon and plans to be made in the morning, so the love inside of him will just have to be expressed through the raw need in the way they come together.

The first finger sinks in without ceremony, not as careful as it should be, but Keith wiggles his hips back down on it, so Shiro casts the thought out of his mind. A second one is added quickly, as soon as the tight clutch of Keith around him lets up enough for his finger to move. It’s a hard push, and _god_ , Keith’s going to be around him soon, and he grinds his cock into Keith’s thigh absently at the thought.

He has Keith by the nape of the neck, and Keith’s arching and twisting and moaning under his hands, sounds of effort and pleasure at being stretched and filled. Steadily, his fingers force him loose enough to start thrusting, accompanied by Shiro’s tongue plunging in and out of Keith’s open, gasping mouth.

Hands are fluttering all across his body, undecided on where to land. They grab his waist, his hips, the muscle of his ass; they fly up to his shoulders and dig into the muscle painfully when Shiro brushes his prostate for the first time.

“There we go,” he growls, half in Keith’s mouth, half across his cheek where he’s dragging his parted lips. He wants his mark everywhere, wants to spread himself over as much of Keith as he can before this is over, too soon. The fingers sunk deep into Keith’s heat speed up and focus in on that spot that makes Keith clench and whine, merciless.

“ _Mmmm_ , Shiro!”

Before long, he’s pushing in a third finger. It’s a tough squeeze, but he makes it work.

“You’re so tight,” he murmurs into Keith’s jaw, half out of his mind with how it feels, with the knowledge that soon he’ll be able to take Keith for his own, for good.

Three fingers crook inside Keith until he keens and arches his head back. It’s not really enough, Shiro knows, but it’s as long as he thinks either of them can stand to wait, so he pulls his fingers out, hissing at the way Keith clutches around him, trying to prevent the loss. He sets his teeth against Keith’s throat and groans.

“C-can I?” He’s already positioned, cock fitted up between Keith’s legs, pushing against his heat and catching on his rim.

“ _Aaahh_ , y-yeah.”

As soon as the words are off of Keith’s tongue, Shiro’s lining himself up and pushing in in one slow, unrelenting stroke. It’s enough to have Keith’s nails raking lines across his shoulders and his mouth falling open in a silent cry, and it must hurt, but his legs wrap around Shiro’s hips to hold him closer, and the moan on his lips is unmistakably colored with pleasure.

“ _Keith_.” He’s never known sensation like this, radiating through his whole weary, aching body. Keith is so _hot_ , and tight, and he can feel him everywhere, sweat-damp skin and muscle and wet lips.

He starts moving again before he can help himself, little rocking thrusts that are probably too soon to press into the small body that’s just been bullied open by his cock. 

“Love you,” he pants, almost an apology.

But Keith just arches into it, tugs at Shiro’s hair, bites at his collarbone and pulls him deeper.

There are more words somewhere in the back of Shiro’s mind, dirty murmurs and praises that would make Keith’s flush darken even further, but they won’t crystallize into something he can voice, not with the way his blood is rushing and his heart is threatening to burst with the unbridled _need_ to be as close as possible.

He picks up a steady rhythm, fucking in hard and pulling out slow, dragging along Keith’s inner walls just to hear him cry out. The castle is quiet, and the smooth stone walls amplify everything, and Keith is loud. The idea that they may be waking up the rest of the castle only feeds his possessiveness, spurs him on.

The pace escalates quickly, until Keith’s being pushed upwards on the fur with every thrust, and his mouth is hanging open to spill constant moans and whines and curses.

“Shiro, Shiro,” he chants like a prayer. There’s a glimmer of tears at the corners of his eyes. Shiro half wants to lick them away, half wants to see them fall.

It’s a catharsis, this desperate joining. With each breath Shiro knocks out of Keith’s chest, each spasm of Keith’s lower stomach and squeezing of his thighs, it affirms everything his heart needs to be sure of. In the fire between them, the pain of their separation is brought up to the surface and then burned away. Shiro buries himself deep inside and Keith clutches him closer, and it finally seals the covenant between them.

Rapidly approaching his climax, Shiro grabs Keith’s thigh and hikes it up further at the same time that he sits up, onto his knees, and uses his bruising grip on Keith’s thigh as leverage to fuck him harder.

Keith keens and scrabbles at the fur beneath him because it sinks Shiro even _deeper_ , and the angle has each snap of Shiro’s hips pushing his cock right up against his sweet spot. Shiro doesn’t even have to ask if he’s close, because he can hear it in the way he’s making these breathy, high sounds on every exhale, _see_ it in the way his body arches and his lower stomach jumps. It’s such an alluring sight that Shiro takes the metal hand that was clamped on Keith’s hip to anchor him – too hard, he now realizes, when his fingers move to reveal reddened marks that will soon be bruises – and slides it across to feel.

The hand splays wide, and Shiro marvels at how much of Keith’s slim waist it takes up, spanning almost from hipbone to hipbone. Keith’s muscles flutter under his hand, and Shiro presses down, puts a little bit of his weight on his stomach, curious.

“Fuck, Shiro!” Keith cries, half-yelp, half-moan.

Shiro grunts, distracted by the way Keith yields under his palm. When he grinds in deep, he think he might even feel the too-big press of his cock in there. A gasp escapes him, and he glances up to Keith to see if he feels it too.

Keith’s eyes are wide, and that must be enough, because his body locks up, frozen and pleasure and he comes, biting down on his lower lip to try to muffle his broken moan.

Shiro lets go of Keith and collapses onto him, hips shoving into the backs of Keith’s thighs with obscene smacks. He gathers Keith up in his arms, holds him as close as can be, and mouths at his jaw as he rocks into him.

“Love you, I love you, fuck,” Keith’s panting into his ear as he clenches on the aftershocks of his orgasm, and of course that’s what does it. Hearing those words sends Shiro over the edge, and he buries his cock as deep as it will go, grinding in as he comes with a shuddering groan.

His hand is stroking Keith’s hair before he’s even come back into himself, his lips kissing his cheek and searching out his mouth. Keith’s lips are heated and swollen, but their kiss is soft, now that the frantic need within them has been satiated. There’s room for sweetness, finally, and they indulge in it. It’s like the gentle rocking of a calm ocean after a gale, and they kiss without any intention or awareness of time, until Keith clenches on Shiro’s spent cock in a residual spasm and Shiro winces with oversensitivity and pulls out carefully.

Keith is watching him, eyes still lidded and filled with love. Shiro almost wants to duck his head and hide from the intensity of it. Fingers reach out and skate over his cheekbone, and a smile lifts his cheeks, so beautifully.

They’re not up for speaking, yet, but everything that needs to be said is communicated silently. Once they’ve regained enough strength in their muscles, they help each other over to the bed on the other side of the room and collapse on it, tangled together over the sheets.

For a while, they just stare at each other, lying on their sides, Keith tucked up into Shiro’s chest. Everything Shiro loves, he sees in Keith’s eyes. His fingers run through Keith’s hair, still unused to the feeling of the strands ending so soon. He hasn’t seen Keith’s hair this short in a long time, and he watches it fall through his fingers thoughtfully.

“Do you miss it?” he asks.

Keith hums and thinks about it, chasing Shiro’s hand. “Yes, a bit.” He shrugs. “But it will grow back. Maybe it was time for a change of pace, anyway.”

Shiro’s attention turns to Keith’s neck and shoulders, just barely running his fingertips over the burns there, just enough to feel the too-smooth skin. His touch skates over the bruises lining his throat, left by Ranveig, which he frowns at, then finds the new ones that are his own handiwork. He winces to see the red-and-purple already blooming against Keith’s skin.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

Keith raises an eyebrow at him. “I can assure you I don’t mind,” he says. “And, uh…” he clears his throat, eyes flicking down to Shiro’s own neck and shoulders. “You might not be the only culprit.”

Shiro laughs with what energy he has left and gathers Keith closer.

After a few silent moments, when Shiro thinks they may be succumbing to sleep, Keith speaks again.

“This is how we’re doing things now, okay?” he says, his voice vibrating against Shiro’s throat until he pulls back to look him in the eye, hard and certain. “Together.”

Shiro nods, puts all of his conviction into it. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


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